Category: English

I’ve always been a magnet for boys. Since elementary school, love letters have piled up like junk mail. Terrified I’d turn into a teenage delinquent, my parents went nuclear: they arranged my marriage when I was basically a toddler. Having an “official fiancé” actually worked. It blocked most of the unwanted attention. Then came college. My grandfather passed away, so I went back to our ancestral village for the funeral. Bad move. Someone planted a “Matchmaker’s Curse” on me. The rule? If you’re marked by the Matchmaker’s Curse, you must marry the person the mark belongs to. Problem is, I already have a fiancé. 1 Back in my family’s village, nestled deep in the Appalachian backwoods, there’s a legend. Families with sons who are… undesirable… will scout for a girl and secretly bind her to their son with a dark hex. A mark appears on the girl’s body: a pale, crescent moon. They call it the “Matchmaker’s Seal.” If the girl’s family can’t break the curse, she has no choice but to marry the son—whether he’s a fool, blind, or paralyzed. If she refuses, the seal spreads. It covers her whole body, rotting her from the inside out until she dies. My mom used to tell me this story. I treated it like a fairytale. I grew up in the city; this hillbilly voodoo had nothing to do with me. Until my grandpa died. I went back for the funeral, and guess what? I became the main character in a horror story. 2 At first, I thought it was an allergy. I kept scratching at my collarbone until I noticed it—a pale pink crescent moon mark, right above my left clavicle. I showed it to my grandma. She exploded. “Which blind bastard dares target my granddaughter?! They must be tired of living!” My mom was frantic, stomping her foot. “What do we do? Clara is already engaged!” “Engaged or not, we aren’t taking this lying down,” my dad said, his face grim. The Matchmaker’s Seal is a type of Gu poison—ancient, nasty stuff. It’s hard to cultivate and even harder to plant. And if the curse is broken, the backlash hits the caster and the intended groom hard. No normal guy would resort to this. It meant the “owner” of this mark was likely desperate. Probably disabled, disfigured, or just plain evil. Grandma sighed. “To break the seal, we need to know who planted it. If only your grandpa were still alive.” Grandpa was a master at breaking hexes. When he was around, nobody dared touch us. Now that he was gone, the wolves were circling. 3 “Clara, did you eat anything you shouldn’t have? Especially from strangers?” Grandma asked. I thought about it. “No. Mom and Dad warned me before we came. I only ate at the house during the funeral wake.” “Then it was someone close. Probably at the funeral banquet,” Dad slammed his hand on the table. There were over 150 guests. It could have been anyone. “But those were all friends and family! Who could be so vicious?” Mom started crying. “List everyone with a son,” Grandma commanded. “Especially the unmarried, disabled, or slow ones.” Dad grabbed a pen. Out of 153 guests, 13 had unmarried sons. Ten were dating or engaged. That left three. One was my second cousin, Earl, from the next holler over. He had a bad eye and was thirty, still single. Another was Old Man Miller’s grandson, crashed his truck a few years back, lost a leg. He was twenty-eight, unemployed, and just played video games in his basement. The last was a distant relative, Lenny. An orphan, nearly forty, malnourished, and honestly, kinda creepy looking. 4 “Lenny wouldn’t. I watched him grow up. He wears your dad’s old clothes. He has no money and no skills to pull off a hex like this,” Grandma dismissed him. “Clara, tomorrow you come with me. We’re visiting the Millers and Cousin Earl.” She poked my forehead. “Look at you, zoning out! Aren’t you worried?” I wasn’t zoning out. I was terrified. Not of the curse, but of my fiancé. Mom looked guilty. My engagement was a result of my parents owing a life debt. Dad, oblivious as always, brought it up. “If he finds out, it’s gonna be a disaster.” “Clara’s fiancé? When can I meet him?” Grandma asked. “It happened so fast, we didn’t have time to tell you,” Dad mumbled. “We need to find the culprit fast. Before… before he gets angry.” My fiancé, Silas Vance. Honestly? I kinda wanted to see him angry. He was so stoic it was annoying. I’d only read about guys like him in books. 5 The next day, Grandma and I visited the Millers. We beat around the bush until I just showed Old Man Miller the mark. “Good Lord, Clara! It ain’t us!” he swore. “We’ve known your grandpa for fifty years! Plus, Clara’s a college girl; my grandson ain’t in her league. Your grandpa warned everyone about this dark magic. I ain’t gonna disrespect his memory like that.” He seemed sincere. Usually, once the mark appears, the groom’s family shows up within two weeks to “claim” the bride. If it were them, they’d admit it. 6 Next stop: Cousin Earl’s place. Earl came out to greet us. He looked honest, if a bit simple. He scratched his head and told us his dad wasn’t home—he was out with a matchmaker trying to set Earl up with a girl from the next town. Grandma and I exchanged a look. We left without even going inside. If it wasn’t them, who was it? “Don’t panic, Clara,” Grandma soothed me on the walk back. “The culprit will show up eventually. We’ll handle it.” I nodded. I wasn’t panicking about the curse. I was panicking because Silas Vance was coming. Silas wasn’t just a guy. He was from a hidden clan of Daoist cultivators. Like, legitimate wizards. They fasted, meditated, and practiced abstinence. Basically, he was an immortal who didn’t eat spicy Cheetos or BBQ. We were incompatible on a cellular level. But he was gorgeous. Otherworldly handsome. Cold, distant, radiating “do not touch” energy. Since we got engaged, he’d used his status to micromanage my life. No junk food. No staying up late. No clubbing. “Three months between Spicy Sticks. Six months for BBQ. One ice cream cone a year.” That was his compromise. Beauty is great, but does it taste like fried chicken? No. 7 I was mentally cursing him when I saw a familiar figure standing in my grandma’s doorway. My brain buzzed. “Uh… Grandma… you go in first. I… I forgot something…” I turned to bolt. I knew my parents would call the “Black-Faced God,” but I didn’t think he’d teleport here instantly. “Clara Yeager. Am I that scary?” I ran smack into a chest that felt like a marble wall. I looked up. Sharp brows, eyes like deep mountain pools. Silas. “Scarier than my Calculus professor,” I blurted out. Oops. Usually, he’d cast a “Silence Spell” on me for talking back. For a chatterbox like me, that was death. I braced myself. But he didn’t get mad. He actually smiled—a faint, terrifying twitch of the lips—and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Your parents told me I was too cold. That’s why you resorted to planting a Matchmaker’s Seal on yourself. It’s my fault. From now on… I’ll buy you Spicy Sticks. Ice cream too.” Wait. What? My parents told him I planted the curse on myself? To get his attention? I almost laughed. I failed biology. How would I cultivate a magical parasite? But… he said he’d buy me Spicy Sticks. And ice cream. “Really? Buy me two packs of Spicy Sticks and a double-scoop cone. Right now.” Let’s test the waters. Silas nodded. “Let’s go. Your choice. My tab.” 8 After devouring the snacks and licking the ice cream off my fingers, I burped. “By the way, I didn’t plant the mark. Seriously. I swear on my GPA.” Silas’s face went dark instantly. “Clara!” Whoa. Now he’s mad. “Stop! No Silence Spell! Or I’ll marry the hex-caster and cuckold you!” “You dare!” His face was thunderous. “Try me.” I glared back. For the first time in years, I felt brave. His dark blue eyes churned with rage, reflecting my defiant face. “I will castrate the man who planted that mark.” “Ooh! You broke the Vance Family rule against profanity! Hahaha!” I pointed and laughed. Silas’s ears turned bright red. He literally vanished—used a speed talisman to zoom away. Embarrassed? Angry? Both? I love dragging this ascetic monk down to earth. Watching him get flustered is my favorite hobby.

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My school uniform was still torn from the last day of exams when my mother, a fragile little flower who couldn’t possibly survive in the wild, announced she had found me a stepfather. “You’re not my blood,” the man told me flatly. “Don’t expect me to be a doting father.” He tossed a black card onto the table. “Here’s a million dollars as a welcome gift. From now on, your monthly allowance is only a hundred grand. Deal with it.” My mother’s eyes went red, brimming with tears. “I’m so sorry, baby. It’s all my fault. I’m useless. I let you suffer such indignity…” Indignity? I clutched the card. If this is suffering, please, let me suffer more. But that wasn’t all. I also inherited a stepbrother. A billionaire CEO. 6’2″, built like a Greek god, and rumored to be colder than a Siberian winter. Who says you can’t have your cake and eat it too? 1 My mom is the queen of gold diggers. Back when my biological dad went bankrupt, all his other mistresses fled like rats on a sinking ship. Not my mom. She truly believed he would bounce back. She emptied her savings to help him, lecturing me on “The Long Game.” “When he gets back on top,” she’d say, “I’ll be the only one left standing. The Queen Bee.” Her calculations were… off. Dad didn’t bounce back. He bounced off the pavement. Unable to handle the debt, he jumped from a building. He died, and we were left destitute. At our lowest point, my mom—who used to spend thousands on skincare—rolled up her sleeves and started collecting recyclables to pay for my tuition. She lost her glamour, waking up every day to scavenge for plastic bottles. I swore I would get into an Ivy League school and lift us out of poverty. But right after I finished my SATs, before I could even take off my worn-out uniform, she brought home a distinguished, middle-aged man. “Lola,” she said. “Meet your new dad.” Victor Sterling. The richest man in the city. I was stunned. Morning: scavenging for bottles. Evening: married to a billionaire? The plot twist was too much. My mom wept into Victor’s expensive suit. “I didn’t want you to see me like this… a bankrupt ex, a daughter in school, leeching parents… I had to pick up trash to survive. If you think I’m embarrassing, just leave me…” Victor held her tight. “You are strong and independent. How could I ever leave you?” Then he turned to me. “I love your mother,” he said seriously. “You are just part of the package. Don’t expect fatherly love.” He threw the black card at me. “A million dollars to start. One hundred thousand a month after that.” Mom cried harder. “I’m so sorry, Lola. I made you suffer.” I squeezed the card. It took me a long time to realize: I was a prop in their romance. And a very well-paid one. 2 That night, I was shipped off to one of the Sterling family’s “spare” villas. My delicate mother went off to her honeymoon nest with Victor. Her parting words: “Lola, you’re eighteen. Time to be independent.” Translation: Don’t cockblock me. I stood alone in a massive, empty villa, clutching a million dollars. It was lonely. And creepy. The place was so big my footsteps echoed. My brain immediately started replaying every horror movie I’d ever seen. Too scared to go upstairs, I curled up on the living room sofa. In the middle of the night, I heard a noise. Rustle. Click. I bolted upright in the dark, grabbing a heavy vase. Terror gripped my throat. “Who’s there?!” A shadow moved by the window. I squeezed my eyes shut and hurled the vase. CRASH! The lights blazed on. A man in a trench coat stood by the sofa, backlit like a model stepping off a runway. He looked down at the shattered porcelain at his feet, then at me. His gaze lingered on my tattered uniform. “Where did this little sparrow come from?” he drawled. “Feisty.” I jumped up, defensive. Midnight. Strange man. Villa. This was a murder setup. He ignored my panic, pouring himself a drink with infuriating calm. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, matching the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Tsk. Is the sparrow going to peck me?” “Who are you?!” I shouted, bluffing. “Don’t try anything! I’ll call the cops!” He tipped his chin toward the sofa. “Your phone is right there. Pick it up and say that again.” I froze. Then, the man started taking off his coat. Oh god. I’m just a high school graduate. Is he a pervert? My brain short-circuited. I looked for an exit. Before I could move, a heavy coat landed on my head, smelling of cedarwood and expensive cologne. “Didn’t the old man buy you clothes?” he asked, sounding disdainful. “You look like a beggar.” He walked upstairs, answering his phone on speaker. “Julian, baby~” a sultry male voice cooed from the phone. “Where did you go? Did you catch a canary?” “No canary,” Julian replied, glancing back at me. “Just a little sparrow.” I realized then. Julian Sterling. The heir. The Prince of the City. My stepbrother. This was his house. I had invaded his home and thrown a vase at him. I’m dead. 3 I was agonizing over how to apologize when Julian called from upstairs. “Sparrow! Get up here.” I ran up. He had changed into white loungewear. The dangerous edge was gone, replaced by a soft, damp look. His hair was wet, water droplets clinging to the ends. “Staring?” he asked. I blushed and grabbed a towel. He didn’t take it. He lay down on the sofa and pointed at his head. “Dry it.” Guilt made me compliant. I started toweling his hair. Up close, he was devastatingly handsome. His skin was flawless. It was unfair. “I’m… sorry…” I whispered. “For what?” he asked, eyes closed. “I thought you were a burglar.” Since Dad died, Mom and I had dealt with a lot of creeps. I was jumpy. If that vase had hit him… Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist and yanked. I fell onto his chest. Before I could scramble away, his arm locked around my waist. I was trapped in his heat, staring into his unreadable eyes. “How do you know,” he murmured, “that I’m not a bad guy?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “You… you’re my stepbrother now!” “Do you think I care about labels?” His grip tightened. I started to panic. Tears welled up. Why was he so unpredictable? “Let me go!” “And if I don’t?” I pushed against his chin, desperate. My finger slipped and pressed against his lips. They were hot. Julian froze. He released me abruptly and sat up. “Keep your guard up, Sparrow,” he said, touching his lip. His eyes were dark. “Or you’ll get eaten alive.” I threw the towel at him and ran downstairs, face burning. 4 His coat was still on the sofa. Angry and humiliated, I threw it on the floor and stomped on it. Take that, Julian! “Feel better?” I jumped three feet in the air. Julian was leaning over the railing, phone in hand. “That coat cost fifty grand. How are you paying?” My heart stopped. My allowance just took a massive hit. “I… I’ll swipe my card!” “No need.” He tossed the coat at me. “Wash it. Bring it back clean.” He walked toward the door. The villa suddenly felt huge and empty again. I ran after him. He turned, raising an eyebrow. “I… I’m scared to be alone,” I mumbled. “Not scared of me anymore?” “You won’t kill me, right?” He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed into his phone. “Buy a juice. Be there in ten.” He dragged me to the city’s biggest nightclub. He shoved me into a booth and handed me a watermelon juice. “Drink this. Don’t touch anything else,” he whispered in my ear. The breath tickled. I shrank into the corner. “Yo, Julian! Changing tastes?” a guy shouted. “High school uniform? Really?” Julian shot him a cold look. The table went quiet. “Family. Watch your mouths.” The silence lasted two seconds before the whispers started. “Family? Since when is he nice to family?” “Must be the new stepsister.” Julian ignored them, leaning back in the shadows. “So she’s not blood related?” A guy with bleached hair, Fred, squeezed next to me. “If Julian isn’t playing, I’ll take a turn…” Fred grinned, reaching for my hand. “Hey sweetie. You legal?” I looked at Julian. He was watching, eyes half-closed, doing nothing. Fred’s hand touched mine. I snapped. I stood up and splashed the watermelon juice in Fred’s face. “I’m not his stepsister,” I hissed. “I’m his auntie!” I shoved past the stunned Fred and ran out. 5 I didn’t go back to the villa. I called my best friend, Chloe. “Your mom married a billionaire and you got kicked out?” Chloe gasped. “Not by the dad. By the son.” He watched me get harassed. He wanted me to know my place. He thought I was a gold digger like my mom. “I’m homeless, Chloe.” “Don’t worry!” Chloe thumped her chest. “I got you. We’ll survive on ramen until college starts!” She handed me a pair of pajamas to replace my uniform. Just then, my phone buzzed. [Deposit: $100,000. Balance: $1,100,000. Note: July Allowance. – Stepdad.] Chloe snatched the pajamas back. “You call this homeless?!” “Technically…” “This is a luxury vacation!” she screamed. I told her everything. “Your stepbrother is trash,” she concluded. “But… does he really have an eight-pack?” I facepalmed. “Priorities, Chloe?” “I’ve never seen abs in real life! Was it… hard?” I thought back to falling on him. “Yeah… hard. Like rocks.” Chloe squealed. “Details! Was there a V-line?” “I was fighting for my life, not taking notes!” But… his lips were soft. “It’s okay,” Chloe said solemnly. “If you missed Julian, there’s always Chad.” “Who?” “Chad Miller. The class president.” “Do I know him?” “He has a crush on you! Are you blind?” Chloe sighed. “Your mom has max charisma. How did you end up with zero EQ?”

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Five years after I married Grant Ashworth in my sister’s place, Bianca finally decided to come home and claim what she felt was hers. “I’m back now, Gen,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “The Ashworth Group CEO’s wife title? You can hand it over.” My parents, the Fosters, were quick to chime in. “If your sister hadn’t been so kind, how would you ever have gotten to live this good life?” My husband, the man I’d built a life with, frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “To be fair, Gen,” Grant said, “you have been occupying Bianca’s place all along.” I simply nodded, picking up the pen to sign the divorce papers that lay on the mahogany coffee table. Day One: I deactivated the Amex Black Card I’d given my parents, shutting down their fifty-thousand-dollar daily spending limit. Day Two: I announced my immediate withdrawal from the corporate project team, bringing multiple multi-billion-dollar deals to a screeching halt. Day Three: I blocked all their numbers, packed a single carry-on, and boarded a flight bound for Palm Beach. Five years. I played the dutiful daughter and the faultless corporate wife, but I was never enough to overcome their preference for her. Let them see how long that preferential treatment could sustain them without me. 1 I walked back into the house and found Bianca in the great room, personally hanging the framed wedding portrait she and Grant had taken years ago. My parents and Grant were sitting nearby, and not a single person had offered a word of protest. In the photo, Grant and Bianca were pressed close, radiating a blinding, genuine joy. Seeing it made my eyes sting, a visceral, burning pain. I suddenly realized—in five years of marriage, aside from the stiff, formal picture on our marriage certificate, Grant and I didn’t have a single photograph together. “Well, hello, little sister.” Bianca raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her eyes alight with smug triumph. “Stolen things always have to be returned.” She took a slow, deliberate sip of her expensive champagne. “Do yourself a favor and stop clinging to your sister’s man. It’s tacky.” “My sister’s man?” I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. I looked pointedly at Grant, who had been staring at Bianca in silence since I walked in. “Don’t you have anything to say? Or does this proposition sound appealing to you?” I pressed. “Don’t forget, when your company was on the verge of bankruptcy, she decided she didn’t want to be poor with you. How quickly she fled the country to escape the wedding.” My mother’s face instantly twisted in anger. “What nonsense are you spouting?” My father slammed his hand on the armrest of the sofa, trying to assert his authority. “We are not dredging up the past, Gen!” I ignored them both, my gaze locked on Grant, desperate for him to give me an answer, a shred of defense. Grant’s throat worked, and when he finally looked at me, his eyes were full of a weary, profound impatience. “Genevieve Foster,” he said, his voice low but weighted with an undeniable bias. “What’s the point in dragging up old scores?” “Bianca was… young. She made a mistake.” He took his sister-in-law’s side without hesitation. “Now she’s back. Our family is finally together. Just stop causing drama, alright?” My heart felt instantly seized by a cold, invisible hand. The pain was so intense it stole the air from my lungs. “You forced me to marry you in her place, and now you’re helping her steal my husband. How can you call yourselves family?” I choked out. “What was I for these past five years? Was I just a tool to save your reputation? A temp to fill the void until the real bride decided to return?” Grant flinched, avoiding my stare. He exploded with a sudden roar. “Enough! Can you just stop being so dramatic?” Bianca smirked, a cruel, mocking curve to her lips. “Tell me, Gen. Sleeping in my marital bed, wearing my ring, with my man… didn’t it make you feel a little dirty?” “You’re so wicked. You just love stealing your sister’s things, don’t you?” she purred. Her words were poison, delivered with the arrogant confidence of the favored child, twisting the narrative with effortless ease. I was shaking with pure rage. “Bianca Foster, you have no shame!” “Genevieve!” Grant immediately pulled Bianca behind him, his voice a sharp, cutting reprimand. “She is your sister! You can’t speak to her like that.” Bianca nestled into Grant’s embrace, whispering, “Grant, I’m sorry. This is my fault.” “I shouldn’t have brought any of this up. Gen took care of you for five years. She deserves a thank you, even if it was just out of pity…” She finished, her gaze flicking up to mine with a triumphant challenge. Grant only grew angrier. “Genevieve, look at you! Sharp-tongued and petty. You have zero class. You’re no wife for the CEO of the Ashworth Group.” He grabbed Bianca’s hand. “Let’s go. I’m taking you to the charity auction tonight. We’ll buy something you love. Consider it my apology.” He pulled her out the door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind them. My parents immediately produced a crisply folded divorce agreement from a handbag. “You were reluctant before, but signing this now is best for everyone,” my mother insisted. “Grant’s assets have grown substantially, and Bianca is willing to split the equity evenly. She’s being remarkably generous, considering you’re sisters.” Bianca was never “generous.” My parents’ nervous expressions told the real story: Grant knew nothing about this monetary compensation. They were offering me hush money, terrified I would disrupt their precious reunion. I didn’t let them persuade me further. I signed with one swift, decisive motion. “Fine. I agree to the divorce.” The instant the final stroke was complete, their faces relaxed into wide, eager smiles. I couldn’t help the cold, derisive sneer that escaped me. “Forcing your own daughter to sign divorce papers. Does that make you that happy?” My mother’s smile froze. “We thought you were finally showing some maturity, but then you say something like that?” My father frowned, jumping to her defense. “See? This is why you’re not as pleasing as your sister. We can’t be blamed for preferring her.” They snatched the papers from the table, not even sparing a single word of comfort. They turned and hurried out, leaving me alone in the oppressive silence. The front door clicked shut. I sat there, the quiet pressing down on me, completely abandoned. A moment later, my phone vibrated. Amex Notification: Charge of $30,000.00 to Saks Fifth Avenue. Simultaneously, Bianca’s feed updated: a new, limited-edition designer clutch, with the caption: “Thank you, Mom, for the welcome home gift. Heart.” A glacial coldness spread from my chest, freezing me solid. All these years, anything they offered me was either Bianca’s leftovers or what she couldn’t be bothered to want. Any time I showed a hint of unhappiness, they’d immediately snap: “Who are you making faces at? Do we owe you something?” “You are so immature. You’re nothing like your sister!” I spent five years desperately trying to disprove that verdict, exhausting myself to win their affection. But at that moment, I finally understood—some favor, I was never going to be part of. Face expressionless, I picked up my phone. “I need to shut down the two authorized user cards on my family account. Immediately.” That evening, my mother burst through the door, throwing the credit card onto the floor in front of me. “We say two things you don’t like, and you cut off our money? Did we raise you for nothing all these years?” My father followed, pointing a finger at my face, his voice booming with fury. “You knew we were at the counter paying! You did that to deliberately embarrass us!” Then, Bianca strolled in, casually linked arm-in-arm with Grant. “Sister, you are truly going too far. Why couldn’t you wait until you got home? Why did you make Mom and Dad suffer that humiliation in public?” This scenario had played out countless times in my memory. Now, Grant was a part of it. His face was a mask of thunderous anger. He grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet. “Genevieve Foster! Are you ever going to let this go? Apologize to your parents, now!” He leaned closer, his voice a low, hard warning in my ear. “Stop pushing it. Are you trying to tear this family apart?” When I stayed silent, he made the decision for me. “Mom, Dad, Gen was just upset. I’ll make sure her spending limit is raised to one hundred thousand. Just charge whatever you want.” “If you said it,” I interrupted him calmly, “you’ll be the one footing the bill.” “Genevieve Foster!” Grant’s patience snapped. He roared my name. “I’m asking you one last time—apologize or not?” He gripped my wrist, his strength so great I thought my bones would shatter. “Do you even want to be in this family?” “No.” I snatched my hand back. Inside, I was calmer than I had ever been. Grant’s angry expression went blank for a split second, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly. “What did you say?” I didn’t bother to repeat myself. I turned to walk away. My five years of obedience and devotion had only served as a reason for them to exploit me. As I brushed past Bianca, she suddenly dropped to the floor. “Sister… I know you’re angry, but why would you push me?” she whimpered, clutching her ankle. “What if I broke something? Is that what you want?” Before I could react, a massive force hit me from behind. Grant shoved me out the front door, slamming me hard onto the cold flagstones. A blinding sting of pain shot through my palms and knees. “Get out!” His eyes were icy. “You get out of here right now!” “This house has no room for your drama queen routine!” Through the glass door, I saw Grant spin around and scoop up Bianca, who was still cradling her ankle. His tender, careful movement was in stark contrast to the brutal shove he’d just given me. Bianca settled into his arms, and over his shoulder, she flashed me a look of pure, victorious satisfaction. I smiled back, a small, genuine curve of my mouth. I mouthed two silent words: “You win.” Grant Ashworth, I didn’t want him anymore. My parents—I didn’t want them either. The next morning, I called a project team meeting. Since I’d decided to leave, I owed them a professional transition. Before I could even speak, Grant burst in, Bianca trailing behind him. “Effective immediately, all projects currently managed by Genevieve Foster will be transferred to Bianca,” he announced to the stunned room. He turned to me, his gaze cold. “You injured Bianca yesterday and caused her distress. Letting her take over your projects will be your compensation to her.” I shot to my feet. “I won’t allow this!” “Bianca studied art history. She can’t read a single line of project code, and she has zero experience in finance! You can’t just parachute her in and hand her hundreds of millions in core projects! You’re treating the company like a playground!” I had planned for an amicable departure, ensuring the projects were handed over responsibly. Not for Grant, but for the team members who had poured their blood and sweat into the Ashworth Group alongside me. “Is this just because you’re jealous?” Grant raged. “You’re trying to humiliate Bianca in front of everyone!” “Genevieve,” he hissed, “when did you become so malicious?” He raised his voice for the room to hear. “I run the Ashworth Group now. Accept the new structure, or you can walk out of this project team.” He accused me of tarnishing Bianca’s reputation, yet he was systematically stomping my dignity into the dirt. “Fine,” I said, nodding slowly. “I’m out.” I swept my gaze across the faces of my colleagues—some shocked, some pitying. “Take care, everyone.” I didn’t need to say another word. They knew what a manager relying solely on family connection, and a decision-maker confusing business with personal life, meant for their careers. The news of my departure from Ashworth spread like wildfire. Less than two hours later, my phone rang. “Ms. Foster, if you are confirmed to be resigning, we will have to terminate our corporate partnership with Ashworth as per our contract.” Moments after that, the head of my core technology team texted me: “All key members have collectively tendered their resignation. We’re waiting for your next move.” Near noon, Grant stormed into the luxury boutique hotel suite where I was temporarily staying. “Genevieve Foster!” He ground out my name. “Where have you been? Are you doing this on purpose?” “The entire financial district is talking about Bianca and me! They’re saying you left because of her!” He grabbed my wrist again. “You have to go back and clear her name. Now!” I sharply pulled my hand free. “Even now, all you care about is her reputation?” Grant sneered. “You think losing a few contracts and some employees resigning is going to hurt me? You just want to prove how important you are.” “The important thing right now is Bianca! She’s an unmarried woman with a clean slate. Her reputation matters more than anything, and you are trying to ruin her with these false rumors.” “Are any of those rumors untrue?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. Smack! The sharp, fiery sting of a slap erupted across my cheek. My ears were ringing. In five years of marriage, it was the first time he had ever laid a hand on me. “Bianca is your sister!” Grant gasped, his chest heaving with fury. “How could you say that?” I slowly lifted my hand to my stinging cheek, my eyes holding only a dead calm. Grant looked momentarily unsettled, but he quickly reasserted himself. “Go apologize to Bianca. We can forget this ever happened.” “And if I refuse?” I suddenly remembered Bianca’s first visit, demanding I “give Grant back.” I had thought she was comically naive. Now, I saw that the person who was naive was me—the one who thought Grant would never leave. “Then I’ll divorce you!” Grant roared. “Genevieve Foster! You’re just not as likeable as your sister! You’re cold and stiff. What other man would want a woman like you besides me?” His phone chimed. Caller ID: Bianca. He quickly hit the power button, the screen going dark. “I’m holding a press conference tomorrow morning. You will be there to support Bianca and clarify everything. If you don’t, our marriage is over.” He left with the threat hanging in the air. The hurried way he spun around to return Bianca’s call spoke volumes about his priorities. Standing there, I slowly raised my phone to my ear. “Mr. Devlin, I have an 18% stake in the Ashworth Group. Are you interested?” I met Rhys Devlin in a private booth that evening. “Eighteen percent, added to my current holdings, is enough for a hostile takeover of Ashworth,” he said, tapping a manicured finger on the table. He looked at me with sharp, dissecting eyes. “Are you sure you want to go this far?” After five years of marriage, Grant and I had shared tender moments. I remembered the night I got rushed to the ER for a bleeding ulcer from endless company dinners. Grant had pulled this same stock transfer agreement from his safe, his hands trembling. “This is the only assurance I can give you,” he’d promised. “Everything I have is yours. I will never fail you.” Now, the promise was hollow, and the man was unrecognizable. I still hesitated. Pathetic, I know. I took a deep breath and stood abruptly. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” On the way, I heard a familiar voice. “Mr. Ashworth, are you sure you want us to run the press release this way?” A strange man asked. “It says your wife, Genevieve, has always been jealous of her sister, Bianca, and that she orchestrated a plot to force her sister out of the country because Bianca was your original fiancée. And now she’s spreading false rumors because she’s afraid of losing you…” The man paused, a hint of doubt in his voice. “That will completely destroy your wife’s reputation.” After a brief, horrifying silence, I heard the voice I knew better than my own, cold and utterly devoid of compassion. “Her reputation doesn’t matter. Bianca’s does.” “But sir, won’t this make her divorce you?” “Divorce? Impossible.” Grant’s tone was full of chilling certainty, a cruel psychological dissection. “Her parents always favored her sister, so she’s desperately needy for affection. If I occasionally toss her a little warmth, she’ll cling to it like a life raft. She’d never dare let go.” The wound that had finally begun to scab over was ripped wide open. I squeezed my fists until my nails dug into my palms. I turned and walked back into the booth. The last vestige of my hesitation evaporated. “Mr. Devlin,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll sell you the shares. We can sign now.” “Congratulations on your upcoming acquisition of the Ashworth Group.” The next morning, I stood alone at the airport in Palm Beach. I was ready to replace everything. At 9:58 AM, I received Grant’s first call. “Genevieve Foster! Where are you?” His voice was a choke of suppressed rage. “Don’t play games with me. The press conference is about to start. Get over here and clarify things for Bianca!” I hung up without a word. Less than three minutes later, the second call. “Why is Rhys Devlin calling a shareholder meeting? What have you been doing behind my back? Did you think you could flirt your way into his favor to pull this stunt?” “I am warning you, if you don’t fix this immediately, I will divorce you!” I heard his self-serving threat and finally spoke, my tone distant and cool. “Grant Ashworth, if you go home right now, you should find the signed divorce agreement I left for you.”

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My phone buzzed during a board meeting with a notification from the kindergarten parents’ group. The teacher had tagged me: “Mrs. Daniels, your daughter is expelled. Pick her up now.” I typed, “Why?” “Leo’s Mom” replied arrogantly, “Your daughter didn’t call my son ‘young master.’ Isn’t that reason enough? My husband is Liam Gomez, brother of the richest man, Miles Gomez. Got a problem?” Before I could respond, the teacher apologized to her: “Mrs. Gomez, I’m sorry I scolded Leo when he hit your daughter. My mistake! I’ll award him in class tomorrow.” The chat flooded with fawning praise. Someone posted a photo of my bruised, tearful daughter, tagging me: “Being beaten by the wealthiest man’s nephew is a blessing. Don’t be ungrateful.” My blood ran cold. Liam Gomez was my brother—but he died ten years ago. I ended the meeting and raced to the kindergarten, messaging my legal team: “Find who’s impersonating my dead brother. My daughter was assaulted there. Bring a team—make them pay.” 1 When I pulled up to the kindergarten, I saw her immediately—Leo’s Mom, holding court by the school gate, surrounded by a gaggle of other parents. “Mrs. Gomez, you’re so modest! If it weren’t for this, we would have never known your husband was Miles Gomez’s brother.” “Exactly! The moment I saw you, I knew you had an air of nobility about you. It’s that Gomez family aura!” “We’re here to support you today. Your Leo is the little prince of our class. We can’t have him being bullied by just any riffraff!” “That’s right! Any child who makes the young master resort to violence must be trash. I’ve already told my son to be Leo’s loyal follower and protect him at all costs!” Even my daughter’s teacher was there, bowing and scraping before this woman. “Mrs. Gomez, the Daniels girl was insolent. She deserved to be beaten and expelled. Your Leo is a brave and powerful boy, unafraid to express his emotions. I will hold him up as a model for all the other students!” “Also,” the teacher added, her voice dripping with sycophancy, “if you could send me a list of Leo’s favorite foods, we will adjust the entire kindergarten’s menu to his tastes.” Leo’s Mom preened under the flattery, a proud peacock puffing out its chest. My brother, Liam, had been a humble, kind, and decent man. We were inseparable, working side-by-side to build the Gomez Group into the empire it was today. But the work took its toll. He fell ill and passed away far too young. I honored his wish for a quiet, private funeral, then channeled my grief into my work, determined to fulfill his dream of making our company number one. Now, after ten years of my relentless effort, my success had become this woman’s social capital. I was furious, and utterly bewildered. Who was this man, this impostor, who had given her the audacity to act with such impunity and to allow my daughter to be so brutally bullied? When the group of parents saw me approaching, their fawning smiles vanished, replaced by scowls of disgust, as if I were something vile they’d scraped off their shoes. The teacher marched up to me, her face a mask of contempt. “The director himself ordered your daughter’s expulsion. I suggest you learn to control her, and teach her to know her place.” I stared at her, my voice dangerously low. “My daughter was assaulted in your school. Instead of seeking justice for her, you expel the victim to curry favor with the powerful?” The teacher scoffed. “This is an elite kindergarten. We prioritize the status of our students. The Gomez family is not someone a low-life like you can afford to offend.” My expression hardened. “I suggest you do your research and find out exactly who I am.” Before I could say more, Leo’s Mom stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. “Who the hell do you think you are,” she sneered, “to talk about status here? No matter who you are, you’ll never be more important than my husband.” 2 The slap stunned me. The other parents erupted in jeers. “Hilarious! A member of the Gomez family is right here, and this nobody dares to talk about status?” “She’s probably so low-class she doesn’t even know what the Gomez name means.” “Being beaten by Miles Gomez’s nephew is an honor for trash like her. I don’t know what she’s complaining about.” They spat insults, some literally spitting in my direction, telling me I was worse than garbage. I took off my jacket—a custom piece worth a small fortune—and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then I faced Leo’s Mom. “First, your son assaults my daughter, and now you assault me. Are you not afraid of the law?” She laughed as if I’d told the world’s funniest joke. “You really have no idea how powerful the Gomez family is, do you? My husband is Miles Gomez’s brother. Do you think the law can touch me?” She held up her designer handbag. “See this? A gift from my husband. The silk scarf tied to the handle is worth more than you and your daughter’s lives combined.” I looked at the bag. It was indeed priceless, but for some reason, it looked familiar. “That’s strange,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. “I had no idea Liam Gomez was married, let alone had a child. Why don’t you call your husband over? I’d like to meet him.” My brother had been dead for a decade. How could he have a five-year-old son? I was going to find out who dared to impersonate him and unleash this monstrous woman and her child on the world. Leo’s Mom threw her head back and laughed. “My husband’s marriage is not something a bottom-feeder like you needs to be informed of. And you want to meet him? On what grounds?” “On the grounds,” I said, my voice ringing with cold authority, “that I am Liam Gomez’s sister. My name is Amelia Gomez.” 3 The crowd erupted in derisive laughter. Leo’s Mom glanced at the car I had arrived in and sneered. “You drive that piece of junk and dare to call yourself a Gomez? Are you delusional from poverty?” She laughed again. “I’m Miles Gomez’s sister-in-law. You think I wouldn’t recognize his own sister?” The other parents followed her gaze to my car, their mockery growing louder. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a trash heap like that!” “Look at her, poor and pathetic. No wonder her daughter is such a brat. They both deserve a good beating!” “Why do poor people like her even try to get into a school like this? It’s disgusting.” My car was, indeed, a ten-year-old domestic model. But it was a rare, custom-built vehicle, far from cheap. Its understated design meant few recognized its value. And now, it was the reason they refused to believe me. “Today, I’ll teach you the price of impersonating a Gomez!” Before I could say another word, Leo’s Mom picked up a brick from the side of the road and began smashing my car with a vengeance. Windows, headlights, hood—she didn’t spare a single inch. The other parents, caught up in the frenzy, joined in, grabbing whatever they could find and laying into the vehicle. They shattered the windows, then reached inside to slash the leather seats and destroy the interior. In moments, my pristine car was a wreck. “Look! She’s got stuff in the trunk!” one of them yelled after prying it open. Leo’s Mom sauntered over, pulled out a scroll painting, and scoffed, “A piece of trash driving a trashy car, pretending to be a collector. How sophisticated.” With that, she tore the ancient painting to shreds. Everything in the trunk was from a recent auction, priceless antiques I hadn’t had time to move to storage. “I hope you’ll be as enthusiastic when it’s time to pay for that,” I warned, my voice dangerously quiet. She just laughed in my face. “What could a low-life like you possibly own that’s of any value? A pile of fakes, not even worth the price of my lunch! Besides, with the Gomez family’s connections, no court in this city would dare make me pay.” She then proceeded to destroy the rest of the antiques. The other parents, emboldened by her, joined in the rampage. I watched the lawless mob and calmly took out my phone. “Where are you? I want you here in three minutes.” Before the person on the other end could reply, one of the parents snatched my phone and smashed it on the ground. “Still trying to call for backup? You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you? Think you’re some big shot? You’re probably just calling a bunch of beggars to come and play along!” The laughter and insults started again. There’s no reasoning with fools on a path to self-destruction. All I wanted was to see my daughter. I ignored them and walked toward the school entrance. The director came out to block my path. “A low-life like you is not welcome here.” My eyes were like chips of ice. “I want my daughter.” “She’s been expelled,” he sneered. “A teacher will bring her out.” Just then, the front door opened, and my daughter was thrown out, her little backpack flying after her. She landed hard on the pavement and burst into tears. I rushed to her, scooping her into my arms. I turned to the director, my voice shaking with rage. “Is this how you treat your students?” He looked at me with utter contempt. “A piece of trash born from a poor bitch. Does she deserve to be a student here? We’re just throwing out the garbage. What’s the problem?” 4 The other parents applauded. “Well said, Director! Fair and just!” “This is an elite school, not a place for stray dogs.” “Why does trash need an education anyway? She’ll just end up selling her body or picking through garbage. You should teach her how to scavenge. Maybe she’ll find something more valuable than that wreck of a car!” Leo’s Mom grew even more arrogant. “People of your class should know their place. You are destined to live at the bottom, despised by all.” The insults washed over me. The more they screamed, the wider Leo’s Mom smiled. The director took the opportunity to grovel. “Mrs. Gomez, if you are satisfied with how this was handled, perhaps you could do us a small favor. As you know, we are planning to expand, but the surrounding land is all owned by the Gomez Group…” Leo’s Mom crossed her arms, looking down her nose at him. “Don’t worry. I was very pleased with your performance today. I’ll have a word with my husband. He’ll gift the land to you.” The director beamed. “Thank you, Mrs. Gomez, thank you!” The other parents swarmed her, offering gifts and begging for favors. Business deals, partnerships, unlimited gift cards for luxury stores—they showered her with offerings, some even stuffing bank cards into her purse. She reveled in it, basking in their adoration. She walked over to me, her voice dripping with condescension. “Do you feel it? The gap between people in this world is greater than the gap between a person and a dog. Trash like you will never experience what it’s like to be worshiped. But I, as a Gomez, can enjoy a glory you can only dream of.” She leaned in, her voice a venomous hiss. “I’ll give you one day. Take your little garbage daughter and get out of this city. If I ever see her polluting my son’s sight again, I’ll bury the little mutt alive.” My daughter trembled in my arms. “Mommy, I’m scared,” she whimpered. “It hurts…” Her voice was filled with a terror that tore at my heart. I looked closer and saw them—thin, red lines crisscrossing the skin beneath her torn clothes. Knife cuts. My vision went red. “Did your son do this?” I demanded. Leo’s Mom glanced at the cuts and shrugged. “What’s the big deal? She was lucky he didn’t kill her for upsetting him.” The moment the words left her mouth, I slapped her. Hard. It was a blow fueled by all my pent-up rage. She staggered back, stunned. Before I could strike again, one of the other parents grabbed my hair and threw me to the ground. They descended on me like a pack of wolves, kicking and punching. “How dare you touch Mrs. Gomez, you worthless bitch!” “Your little mutt isn’t dead yet! Are you in a hurry to join her?” “Being disciplined by the young master is an honor for that trash! What good could come from a low-life like you? She deserves to be beaten to death!” Even the director kicked me. “Don’t hit my mommy!” my daughter cried, trying to intervene. A fat boy—Leo—shoved her to the ground. The director patted Leo’s head. “What a good boy, punishing the wicked. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a special award in front of the whole school!” Leo grinned. “I’ll beat that little piece of trash every time I see her!” I lay on the ground, bruised and bleeding. I looked up, my eyes burning. “You will all regret this.” They howled with laughter. “Did you hear that? The low-life is making threats!” “She really thinks she’s someone, doesn’t she? With Miles Gomez backing her, Mrs. Gomez could crush this bitch like an ant!” “All she has left is empty rage! Pathetic!” They held me down, showering me with insults. The crowd of onlookers jeered, calling me a fool. Leo’s Mom, triumphant, ground the heel of her stiletto into my cheek. “Regret?” she crowed. “I’ve never regretted a thing in my life. I can’t wait to see how a piece of trash like you is going to make me regret this!” Just then, a roar of engines filled the air. A convoy of over a hundred black luxury cars, each bearing the Gomez family crest, sped down the street and screeched to a halt in front of the kindergarten. The doors flew open, and an army of men in sharp, tailored suits poured out.

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My fiancé, Lucas, went off to the countryside for a volunteer program and secretly started dating a local girl. When the program ended and he returned to the city, he dumped her cold turkey and married me instead. Later, he found out his ex-girlfriend died in childbirth due to an amniotic fluid embolism. Lucas spent the rest of his life drowning in guilt and depression. He dragged me through a loveless marriage until I died young from illness. On my deathbed, I told Lucas: “If there is a next life, I don’t want to make the same mistake.” Then, I was reborn. It was the spring of 1977. This time, Lucas chose to stay in the mountains with his country love, Sarah. And I quit my cushy government job to take the college entrance exams. Decades later, I returned to the countryside as a high-ranking official on an inspection tour and met Lucas again. He had built a brick house, farmed land, and had a brood of kids with Sarah. Seeing me dusty and tired from the journey, Lucas sighed: “It’s been decades, haven’t you moved on? You’re not young anymore; just find someone decent and marry.” He thought my motion sickness was heartbreak. The next day, a black Mercedes-Benz pulled up to the village entrance to pick me up. Lucas collapsed in the dust. “Didn’t you say that even if we tortured each other, you’d haunt me forever?” 1 If I hadn’t been accompanying the Governor on this inspection tour, I probably never would have set foot in this backwater again. And I certainly never expected to meet Sarah—the nightmare of my past life—face to face. The sun was high. Her face was flushed with sunburn, but the wrinkles around her eyes couldn’t hide her joy. “My Lucas just contracted a few more acres. After the harvest, we’re building a new wing for our eldest son’s wedding.” The village women around her were chirping like birds: “Sarah, you’re so lucky! You snagged a capable man!” “Right? Back then, most of those city boys just played around and left. Who else stayed for love?” “Besides the Village Chief, you guys are basically the richest family here, right?” Sarah soaked up the praise like a sponge, feigning modesty: “Oh, stop it. He just got lucky with the new policies. He’s not that amazing.” But her chin was tilted so high she could probably drink rain. I looked away. It seemed Lucas was doing well in this life. No regrets here. I had never met Sarah in my past life or this one, yet I recognized her instantly. First, because the neighbors had their black-and-white wedding photo on the wall. Second, because in my past life, my husband kept a photo of her at eighteen hidden away, weeping over it constantly. I was about to turn back to find my delegation when I saw Lucas walking over with a few teenagers carrying hoes. They had his eyes. Definitely his and Sarah’s kids. In my past life, Lucas and I were engaged since childhood. But during his volunteer stint in the countryside, he had a fling with Sarah. Desperate to return to the city, he abandoned a pregnant Sarah and married me. Shortly after our wedding, news came that Sarah died in childbirth. Lucas was consumed by regret. He never touched me again. I lived like a widow for decades and died alone. This time around, Lucas got his wish. A full house of kids with Sarah. Suddenly, a toddler crashed into my legs. The crying drew everyone’s attention. Recognizing me, shock flashed through Lucas’s eyes. “Ava? What are you doing here?” I bent down to help the kid up. “I’m here for work.” A villager asked, “Lucas, who’s she?” Lucas looked uncomfortable. “An old neighbor from the city. We knew each other as kids.” A woman nearby sneered. “Look at that city girl frame. Thin as a rake. Probably can’t bear children. No wonder Lucas picked Sarah.” Hearing this, Sarah puffed out her chest, looking smug. “Just a neighbor. My Lucas has high standards.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “Your face is sallow, and you’re flat as a board. Can you not afford food?” “I heard you city folks need ration coupons for rice. Unlike us country folk—we grow our own and eat till we burst.” I glanced at Sarah’s plump figure and smiled politely, ignoring her rudeness. I turned to leave. But a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. The long journey on bumpy roads had given me severe motion sickness. I stumbled. Lucas rushed forward to catch me. Once I was steady, he let go and stepped back quickly. He looked at me with pity. “Ava, it’s been years… why torture yourself like this?” Sarah rushed over like a guarding hen, blocking Lucas. “Ava, have some shame! You tried to seduce Lucas when you were girls, and now that he’s my man, you chase him all the way here?” Another woman spat on the ground. “Homewrecker! Coming here to ruin a family? We won’t let you bully Sarah!” A young wife put her hands on her hips. “City slut! Still playing these games at your age?” Even an old grandma hobbled over, pointing a cane at my nose. “Didn’t your parents teach you any morals?” The crowd surged forward, trying to push me out of the village. “Get back to the city! We don’t welcome your kind!” I tried to explain, but Lucas stopped the angry mob. “Aunties, please. She’s here for me. Let me talk to her… You know I’m a good man!” Lucas looked at me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Ava, haven’t you moved on after all these years? Stop living in the past. I have Sarah and the kids now. I’m happy. You’re not young anymore. Even if you can’t find someone perfect, just settle down.” His public declaration of loyalty made Sarah beam. She looked at me with scorn. “I know you’re bitter because you met him first. But love isn’t first-come-first-served! You’re obsessed with him, and you’re almost hitting menopause, aren’t you?” “Did you come here because you heard Lucas is the richest man in the village now?” Lucas frowned, looking at my dusty clothes. “Didn’t you get into college back then? How are you doing so badly you can’t even eat properly? You have hands and feet; surely you can find work…” He thought for a moment, then carefully pulled a few crumpled bills from a pocket sewn inside his pants. “Here. I’ll get an ox cart to take you to town this afternoon. Buy a bus ticket and go home. Don’t come back.” 2 I wasn’t about to touch money that was still warm from his crotch. I waved my hand. “You misunderstand. I’m not starving. I’m thin because I diet. It’s called staying fit.” They lived in the mountains; they didn’t know that being slim was the trend in the city now. They still thought being fat meant being wealthy. Lucas was convinced I was lying to save face. He tried to shove the money at me. “Ava, stop being stubborn. Take it… Sigh, we aren’t strangers… just take it.” I stepped back. “No need. I have business here.” In the past, I was meek. I never refused him. Lucas was used to controlling me. Seeing me refuse him repeatedly, his face went cold. “Ava, you can’t fool me. If I wasn’t worried about you dying of hunger in my village, I wouldn’t bother!” Sarah scoffed. “Lucas, look at her. She looks drained… I bet she has some nasty disease!” She pulled Lucas back. “Stay away from her. Who knows what she has! I told you, a factory girl like her couldn’t get into college legitimately. She probably slept her way in…” Her tone was self-righteous, as if she hadn’t seduced an engaged man in a cornfield years ago. Back then, I waited in the city like a fool, unaware they were hooking up. When Lucas first returned to the city in my past life, he was always distracted. When I asked, he just held my hand and said it was nothing. I suspected he had a fling. To quell my doubts, he proposed before he even found a job. That night by the river, he hugged me tight. “Ava, I have you. Why would I look at anyone else? Those country girls are rough and uneducated. Why would I want them when I have you, so soft and sweet?” I thought his distraction was just anxiety about the future. I convinced my parents to let us marry. After the wedding, Lucas took my dad’s job at the factory. It was 1977. The college entrance exams were reinstated. My friends were studying. I had the best grades, but I gave up on college because I didn’t want to be separated from my new husband. Then came the news of Sarah’s death. Lucas changed. He treated me like a plague. When he got laid off in middle age, he gave up. I supported the family and cared for his parents until they died. Only on my deathbed did I realize he didn’t just feel guilty—he hated me. He hated me for taking Sarah’s place. So, my last words were: “If there is a next life, let’s not do this again.” In this life, he stayed for Sarah. I chose a different path. I thought we were both happy with our choices. I tried to leave, but Sarah blocked me. “Ava, if you want ‘youth compensation fees’ from Lucas, forget it. He owes you nothing. He told me everything about your past. It was consensual.” “If you’re really too poor to treat your ‘disease,’ stay and cook for the old bachelor in the village. Maybe he’ll give you leftovers.” The crowd laughed nastily. “Look at the way she walks, shaking her hips. No decent family here wants that. If Sarah wasn’t so generous, you wouldn’t even get to serve the bachelor.” They say poverty breeds malice. I was seeing it firsthand. “I have a job.” “I work for the government. I’m here for poverty alleviation research.” Lucas sneered. “Ava, you studied all those years for a desk job? Stop pretending. Government clerks just push paper. They don’t have the power to come here on inspections.” I felt a sudden sadness. I used to love Lucas for his intellect. A few years in the village, and he had become ignorant and shallow. 3 In his mind, making money was the only measure of success. An old man puffed on his pipe. “I heard those government jobs pay peanuts. A month’s salary isn’t even worth one harvest.” The crowd roared with laughter. I didn’t want to explain that while my salary wasn’t huge, I held the power to decide the future of their entire township. A woman pointed. “Look at her white shirt. It’s frayed at the edges. Looks cheap. Even we dress better!” I looked down at my designer shirt with intentional distressing—a style from Paris I picked up on a study trip. Of course, they wouldn’t know fashion. And the dust here made everything look gray. “Just leave! If it weren’t for the VIPs coming, I’d beat you out of here myself!” Sarah shouted. Just then, the Village Chief ran over, shooing people away. “Scram! The Inspection Team is here! The leaders are resting, but they’ll be out soon. This affects our future subsidies, don’t mess it up!” Lucas’s eyes lit up. “Is it about the land contract policy? Finally!” The Chief nodded. “And there’s a big CEO coming from the city. Self-made billionaire. He’s looking to partner with us.” “If our crops are good, he’ll buy everything at double the market rate. No middlemen!” The crowd buzzed with excitement. “That’s amazing! The grain collectors were squeezing us dry!” “My kid’s tuition is covered!” Sarah shoved me. “Get lost! Don’t be an eyesore for the VIPs!” She turned to the Chief with a fawning smile. “Chief, I’m kicking out this old spinster. She’s trying to steal my man!” The Chief finally looked at me. His face went pale. “Director Ava? Why aren’t you resting in your room?” I smiled politely. “It was stuffy. I came for a walk.” The Chief started sweating buckets, bowing repeatedly. “I am so sorry! Our conditions are poor…” He turned and roared at Sarah. “Shut your mouth! This is the Director from the Central Inspection Team! Our VIP!” Lucas froze. “Chief, you’re mistaken. She came to find me. She… we were engaged. She’s been obsessed with me for years.” Sarah put her hands on her hips. “Yeah! She’s no VIP! She’s a shameless old maid trying to steal my husband!” The Chief looked like he was about to have a stroke. “You idiots! You think your Lucas is some prize? Why would a high-ranking official want him?!” Sarah kept cursing. Lucas looked at me with disappointment. “Ava, I didn’t know you sunk this low. Impersonating an official just to win me back? That’s a federal crime!” “Let me tell you, even if you were the richest woman in the world, I wouldn’t want you! Give up!” Before I could speak, a low hum came from the village entrance. A shiny black Mercedes-Benz rolled slowly into the square. The villagers dropped their tools and swarmed the car. “What is that?” the old man gasped. “Dad, that’s a luxury sedan! Only big shots have those!” The Chief rubbed his hands together. “Quick! It’s the CEO! Welcome him!” The car door opened. A man in a sharp suit stepped out. Tall, imposing, radiating authority. He shook hands with the Chief, then walked straight to me. He gently wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Motion sickness again?” 4 I smiled up at him. “Just a little. You came all this way?” Mark looked at me tenderly. “Let me see… you’re having an allergic reaction too? You always hide it… Besides, your business is my priority.” I let him hold my hand. “Where’s our son?” “I knew you’d miss him. The road was too rough, so my secretary is watching him at the hotel in town.” The Chief’s jaw dropped. “Mr. Chen… you and Director Ava are… married?” “Yes,” Mark put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m here to support my wife’s work. Poverty alleviation.” The villagers who had been mocking me were silent. “She really is a leader…” “Sarah is delusional. With a man like that, why would she want Lucas?” “Look at that car. So grand!” The Chief laughed nervously. “Misunderstanding! All a misunderstanding! The villagers didn’t recognize Mount Tai. I apologize on their behalf!” I smiled coolly. “Chief, you said the folkways here were simple and honest. I disagree. I need to re-evaluate the application for poverty status.” The Chief turned white. Mark cut him off. “Chief, my wife is unwell. We’re going to town to rest. We’ll talk business later.” Lucas stared at me, soul-crushed. “You’re married?” I nodded calmly. “Yes. My son is seven.” Mark and I were college classmates. He came from a prestigious family with deep political roots. We fell in love slowly. His family didn’t care about my humble background. After graduation, I went into government; he went into business during the economic reform. I used to think marriage was a grave. Mark taught me it could be paradise. Seeing how Mark loved me, I finally realized Lucas never truly loved me. I turned to leave. Lucas blocked the car. Through the windshield, he stared at me, eyes bloodshot. Mark squeezed my hand, jealous. “Lucas… that ex-boyfriend?” “No,” I said quickly. “Just a neighbor from childhood. Arranged engagement, never real.” “Ava! You said you’d wait for me to change my mind!” Lucas screamed. Mark’s face darkened. I held him back. “I’ll handle it.” I got out and looked Lucas in the eye. “Lucas, you remember wrong. I never said that in this life.” I emphasized “this life.” His face went ghostly pale. “Ava, I know you. You’re stubborn. You said even if we tortured each other, you’d haunt me forever!” I sighed. He didn’t get it. That was the old Ava. “Lucas, stop living in the past. When you chose Sarah, our fates were sealed. You stayed here; I left. We are strangers now.” Sarah grabbed Lucas. “Lucas! What are you doing? I gave you four kids! You can’t leave me just because she’s rich now!” Lucas shoved her away and yelled at me. “I only stayed with Sarah because I heard you were fooling around with other men in the city! You forgot me! You never wrote!” I was shocked. “Who told you that? You know who I am! And letters? I wrote every week! You didn’t get them?” “Sarah told me! She said everyone was talking about it…” Lucas stopped mid-sentence. Sarah was sweating bullets, eyes darting around. He realized the truth. “Sarah! Did you hide Ava’s letters? Speak!” Sarah fell to her knees, hugging his leg. “I was wrong, Lucas! I just loved you too much!” Lucas stood there, struck by lightning. “So you never betrayed me… I knew it… you were so perfect…” I felt no hate, just pity. “Lucas, we grew up together. Did you really trust rumors over me?” “Ava… listen…” He slapped Sarah across the face. Hard. Blood sprayed from her nose. He kicked her over. “Stop!” Sarah wailed. Villagers pulled him back. I looked at this violent man with disgust. I turned to leave. Lucas broke free and chased me. “Ava! It was a misunderstanding! Don’t go! Let’s start over!” I laughed. “Lucas, you have no spine. If you didn’t want to sleep with Sarah, could she have forced you?” “It was your weak will.” Lucas cried, tears streaming down his face. “Ava, you’re lying… you still love me. Or you wouldn’t be here.” I shook my head. “I forgot you existed until today.”

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Leo came to me right before the fall semester started, looking for the money he’d earned lifeguarding over the summer. I threw my hands up. “I don’t have it.” When Mom and Dad found out, they pointed fingers in my face, screaming that I had no shame. Then, I pulled out the bank statements and showed them the truth. Their jaws hit the floor. 1. Because Leo didn’t have his own checking account set up for direct deposit, his wages from two months of lifeguarding had been wired to my account. It was a temporary fix, or so I thought. A week before classes started, he cornered me, demanding the card so he could withdraw cash to buy an iPad for school. I was in the middle of a deep-focus work sprint, buried in spreadsheets, so I just handed him the debit card without looking up. By the time my brain caught up with what I’d done, Leo was already gone. It wasn’t until later that the study door flew open with a violent bang. “Maya, where is the money?” Leo stood there, eyes bloodshot, shaking a fistful of withdrawal receipts at me. “Two months of work, and there’s only a hundred bucks left?” I blinked, pulling my headphones down. “I forgot to tell you. The account is basically empty.” “Just a hundred bucks?” His voice cracked. “Yeah.” “Are you treating me like an idiot? How could two months of wages just disappear?” His gaze, sharp with misplaced rage, locked onto the sleek, silver laptop sitting on my desk. “You used my money to buy that, didn’t you?” Before I could process the accusation, he lunged. He hooked his fingers under the edge of my laptop and yanked it forward with a feral grunt. “Don’t—” The plea died in my throat. CRACK. The sound was sickening. The machine hit the hardwood floor corner-first, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of dead pixels before going black. “My files. My laptop.” The final deck. The quarterly strategy pitch I was due to present in forty-eight hours. It was all in there. I didn’t walk; I scrambled across the floor, falling to my knees beside the wreckage. “Leo, have you lost your damn mind?” I screamed, looking up at him. He hadn’t just broken a machine; he had smashed half a month of my life. My sleep, my sanity, my ticket to a promotion—gone. “That was my presentation! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? I never touched a cent of your money!” “You didn’t touch it? Then where did it go? Did it fly away?” he roared back, vibrating with adrenaline. “You think I’m stupid? You have the card. If it wasn’t you, who was it?” “What is going on up here? The neighbors can hear you from the street!” My parents jammed themselves into the doorway simultaneously. My mother took one look at the scene—me on the floor, Leo panting—and her brow furrowed. “Maya,” she sighed, the exhaustion in her voice performative. “How did you provoke your brother this time? You’re an adult. Can’t you just be the bigger person?” The injustice of it felt like a physical blow to the chest. “I provoked him?” I pointed a shaking finger at the aluminum corpse of my laptop. “He came in here like a psycho and smashed my work computer! My project files are gone, Mom. Gone!” My father looked at the broken laptop. He knew how much these things cost. For a second, the room held a heavy, stunned silence. Then, the silence was broken by a sound so pathetic it had to be rehearsed. “Mom… Dad…” Leo’s tears were instantaneous. Big, alligator tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m just… I’m so stupid. I worked so hard all summer, sweating in that chair for two months, and Maya took it all to buy herself a fancy new computer. That’s why she wouldn’t let me see the account. I just wanted an iPad for school…” I stared at him, paralyzed by the sheer fluidity of his lie. He was rewriting reality in real-time. My parents, whose hearts were already heavily weighted in his favor, softened immediately. Slowly, I bent down, picking up the scattered papers, trying to salvage what I could. “You’re going to pay me back,” Leo sniffled, his voice gaining strength. “With interest. Twenty grand. Principal and interest.” He shoved past my father and stormed out of the room. 2. “Interest? Twenty grand?” I screamed at the empty doorway, my voice trembling so hard it hurt. “Your little lifeguarding gig paid three grand, tops! I’m telling you, I didn’t touch it! Not a penny!” “Watch your mouth!” My father’s low growl came from behind me. “You ungrateful brat. Spending your brother’s hard-earned money and then denying it? Have you no shame?” My mother’s voice was sharper, cutting through the air like glass. “We raised a wolf in sheep’s clothing. All that education, wasted on a thief. You owe him that money, Maya.” “I didn’t do it.” Nobody was listening. That night, the phone didn’t stop ringing. It was a tribunal by telecommunication. I kept picking up, masochistically hoping for someone to be on my side. First, it was Uncle Bob. “Maya, honestly. Being the older sister means looking out for him, not skimming off the top. Is this what college taught you?” I tried to speak, but he hung up. Then Aunt Karen: “Oh honey, aren’t you embarrassed? A grown woman stealing from a teenager? Pay him back before the whole family finds out.” Every call was an indictment. Then, the screen lit up again. Grandma. No hello. No warmth. “Listen to me, girl,” her voice crackled, old and brittle. “You give my grandson his money back. Every cent, plus whatever interest he wants. He earned that. If you short him even a penny…” She paused, letting the threat hang in the static. “…then you are no granddaughter of mine. Don’t bother coming to Thanksgiving. Don’t bother coming back at all.” “Grandma…” I whispered. Click. From the doorway, a soft, rhythmic crunching sound made me look up. Leo was leaning against the doorframe, casually eating an apple. He looked relaxed, victorious. “Heh,” he smirked, taking another bite. “Karma.” At dinner, the air was thick enough to choke on. “Some people really have thick skin,” Leo muttered to the ceiling. Mom slammed a plate of green beans onto the table. “You have the nerve to sit here and eat? After spending your brother’s blood and sweat money?” “I didn’t spend it!” The anger flared up, hot and white. “I’ve said it a thousand times. The account was empty. Fine. I’ll print the statements. From the day the card was issued until now. We’ll see exactly where it went.” I yanked my phone out of my pocket. The motion was too violent; it dislodged something else. Clatter. My car key hit the linoleum and slid under the table. “Car key?” Leo was faster than me. He scooped it up and dangled it in front of Dad’s face. “Dad, Maya bought a car? Since when did she have a new car?” Absolute silence. Then, the realization dawned on my parents’ faces—a false epiphany that fit their narrative perfectly. “That explains it,” Dad said, his voice dangerously quiet. “I was wondering how a few thousand dollars just vanished into thin air.” He slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “You used it to plug the hole for your down payment. You’ve got some nerve.” Mom clutched her chest. “Oh, my god. You took his sweat equity to buy yourself four wheels? Maya! is your heart made of stone?” “I didn’t!” I roared, the pressure in my head nearing an explosion. “I saved for that Civic for two years! Leo’s lifeguarding money wouldn’t even buy the tires!” Leo’s smirk vanished. He turned to Dad, whining like a wounded animal. “Dad, look at her. She thinks she’s better than us. She used my money and now she’s lying about it.” SMASH. My father snatched the key from Leo’s hand and hurled it at the floor with all his strength. The plastic casing cracked open. 3. I scrambled to pick up the pieces, my hands shaking. “Are you happy now? A replacement fob costs three hundred dollars.” The absurdity of it, the sheer humiliation, made me nauseous. My father loomed over me. “Three hundred is too much? But your brother’s summer of waking up at dawn, the money he slaved for—that means nothing to you?” “Wait,” Mom cut in, her eyes narrowing. “I remember. When she was looking at cars, she said she was short a few thousand. She asked us for a loan, and we said no.” She pointed a finger at me, triumphant. “That was when she did it. She couldn’t afford it, so she raided the account.” It was a logic built on sand, but to them, it was concrete. “That’s not what happened,” I said, my voice sounding thin to my own ears. “I got a subsidy from the company. A commuter bonus. It was approved last month. I didn’t touch his money.” “Subsidy?” Dad sneered. “Keep lying. If you can’t produce the cash, you spent it.” He pointed at the broken key in my hand. “Stop with the excuses. This car… your brother owns a piece of it now. Since you used his money, he has a share. Actually, the car is his.” I stared at him, horrified. I looked at Leo, whose face had shifted from fake victimhood to genuine, greedy delight. “Are you insane? On what grounds?” “On the grounds that thieves don’t get to drive,” Mom spat. Leo didn’t hesitate. He snatched the broken key from my hand. He held it up, a cruel grin stretching across his face. “Thanks, Sis. Thanks for the new ride.” I watched the key swinging in his hand, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached. There was nothing I could do. Not right now. I had to wait. That evening, to celebrate Leo “getting his first car,” my parents insisted on taking the whole family out to dinner. I ate nothing. The food tasted like ash. All I could think about was the key in Leo’s pocket. On the way out of the restaurant, Mom suddenly gripped my arm like a vice. “Wait.” I looked up. We were standing in front of an electronics store. The window display was full of tablets. Alarm bells rang in my head. Mom dragged me toward the entrance. “Let’s go in. Pick out an iPad for your brother. He’s a college student; he needs it.” I yanked my arm away. “Mom, I said no. He already stole my car. Why on earth would I buy him an iPad? Do you think I’m an ATM?” “Why?” Mom’s voice rose to a shriek. “Because you selfishly embezzled his summer wages!” Leo’s eyes lit up. He ran into the store, pointing at the newest, most expensive Pro model. “Mom! I want this one. The big screen.” Shoppers and employees turned to look. “I’m not buying it,” I said, turning to leave. “You will buy it!” Mom stepped in front of me, blocking the exit. “You aren’t leaving until you do.” “Yeah, I deserve it!” Leo, emboldened by Mom, grabbed the box of the expensive tablet and hugged it to his chest. “I want this one. If she doesn’t buy it, I’m sleeping here tonight!” The commotion was attracting a crowd. Whispers started circulating. Mom saw the audience and immediately switched into performance mode. She slumped against a display table, sliding toward the floor. “Oh, what did I do to deserve this?” she wailed. “I raised a heartless daughter! She stole her own brother’s hard-earned money and now she won’t even replace it with a tablet for his studies! God, open your eyes! Why is my life so bitter?” Every eye in the store locked onto me. “What kind of person does that?” “Stealing from a kid? That’s low.” “Look at the poor mother.” I saw phones come out. Young customers were recording, cameras pointed squarely at my face. “Put this on TikTok,” someone muttered. “Expose her.” “Karen in training,” another sneered. A store employee, looking awkward and tired, approached me. “Ma’am, please. Either pay for the item or take this outside. You’re disrupting business.” I looked at Leo, clutching the iPad with a smug, challenging look. I looked at Mom, fake-sobbing on the polished concrete. The explanations died in my throat. Instead, a cold, hard rage clarified my mind. “Fine,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “I’ll show you the evidence. Let’s see whose heart is black.” I whipped out my phone. My fingers moved across the screen in a blur. Bank App. Login. FaceID. History. Filter: Custom Date Range. June to August. The list loaded instantly. Crisp, undeniable black text on a white background. “Look,” I said, holding the phone up. “Open your eyes and look.” Dad, who had just parked the car and walked in, pushed through the crowd. “Look closely. From the day his first paycheck hit.” Dad snatched the phone. Mom scrambled up from the floor to look. Their eyes scanned the screen. And then, they froze.

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The year I landed the offer from the top firm in my industry—a job that would place me two thousand miles away—was the year Pierce and I were most fiercely in love. I wrestled with the decision for three days before choosing my career trajectory. Pierce understood. He comforted me, his voice a steady anchor on the phone. “It’s only two thousand miles, a three-hour flight. I’ll fly to see you every month. I’ll talk to my parents. You just go. I’ll wait for you.” By the sixth year of our long-distance relationship, our calls had grown infrequent, and a simple text might go unanswered for days. I made the call: I was quitting my job, coming home, and marrying him. He had waited long enough. I never imagined our first reunion would be at the police station. He’d been arrested for a DUI. “You never drink. And drunk driving? You’re always so… careful,” I said, the words feeling brittle on my tongue. A girl in a Minnie Mouse pajama set burst into the lobby. Her eyes were red and swollen. She rushed Pierce, grabbed his arm, and sank her teeth into his skin. “Who told you to drive over here! You idiot! I told you I just had bad cramps!” It hit me: Pierce owned a matching Mickey Mouse set. He’d claimed it was a prize he won at a company raffle. Staring at the two of them, I suddenly felt like a punchline. I was the fool in the spotlight. 1 The wind howled outside. I couldn’t tell if the stinging in my eyes was from the sleet being whipped into my face, or the sharp pain of that moment. Tears fell, straight and cold, refusing to be blinked away. “Elara!” Pierce didn’t catch up to me. I took a cab and went to the waterfront, standing by the freezing river for a long time. I cried and laughed at the same time. That man—my stoic, utterly predictable Pierce—was wearing couple’s pajamas. I don’t know how he found me. I looked up, and he was there. Just like always. Wherever I was, he always showed up. “You’re running a fever. Let’s go home.” Pierce swept me up into his arms. “Elara, stop being so stubborn. It doesn’t help anyone.” He carried me into the house I’d only ever seen in video calls. The kitchen island held a vase of fresh flowers, the sofa was piled with plush toys, and the girl’s blanket and pillow were folded neatly into the corner. “She was an intern I was mentoring,” Pierce said, pressing an ice pack to my forehead. “She’s young, working alone for the first time. I took extra care of her.” “You’re imagining things…” His phone buzzed. It was a custom ringtone. The name “Dummy” flashed on the screen, next to a cartoon girl’s grinning emoji. He was the kind of person who hated hassle. He never saved names with anything other than a simple first or last name. I was just a string of numbers in his phone. Pierce clumsily shielded the screen with his hand. “Hold on a second.” He walked out, and never came back in. My head was pounding. The medicine I’d swallowed came back up, a searing, sour mess. “Pierce…” Silence. I pushed myself off the bed and walked out, leaning against the wall. The living room was dark. He was gone. A faint glow came from the screen of his laptop on the balcony. His social media account was logged in. He and the girl had maintained a continuous chat streak for nearly a thousand days. I scrolled through the history. It began with her single-sidedly sharing funny clips. Then Pierce started to give serious comments and reactions. Finally, they were trading messages back and forth—every little thing, every big event, always a response. Meanwhile, when work had crushed me into insomnia, and I wanted to call Pierce, I had to take a gamble. He was busy. He wouldn’t always answer. I sank onto the chair, my vision blurred by tears. Ding— A new message popped up. [Vivi: I took the meds, and I finished all the soup you made me. Now I’m cuddling the sleepy bear you bought me, getting ready for bed.] [Pierce: Good. Don’t let your new boyfriend wander into your apartment whenever he likes. It’s unsafe.] [Vivi: Okay~ Only my mentor is allowed into my boudoir~] [Vivi: Why don’t I just break up with him and you can be my boyfriend? Everyone already assumes we’re together anyway. I know you got drunk over me. My boyfriend said you even got into a fight with him and yelled at him for forgetting my cycle and not buying me pain meds.] [Vivi: You and your girlfriend have been long distance for five years. You must have no feelings left. You should just dump her…] Tears streamed down my face. I sat there, numb, feeling a huge, empty hole carved out of my chest. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my breath. I learned that sadness, at its absolute extreme, is just numbness. It’s like being dead. Only my stomach was alive, forcing me to empty its contents—first sour bile, then blood—as if I were trying to vomit out ten years of loving Pierce. Slam— The lights in the entryway suddenly flickered on. Pierce stood there, one hand holding a clay pot of freshly made porridge, the other clutching the girl’s uneaten pain medication. Around his neck was a pink cartoon scarf. The end of it was embroidered with a tiny V. I swayed, then fell toward the floor. When Pierce caught me, I didn’t feel warmth. A strange, unfamiliar perfume assaulted my nostrils. It was sickening. “Elara! Wake up! Elara…” I passed out completely. 2 I woke up in a hospital. The room was empty. I pulled out my phone and made a call. “Hello? Can you please reverse my resignation? I accept the international assignment.” Overseas. I needed to go somewhere I would never have to see Pierce again. A nurse walked in. “Dr. Sterling is in surgery. He’ll be here when he’s finished.” I didn’t reply. I just stared out the window. I remembered the first year I was away. Pierce used to video call me every day. He was a man of few words. He wasn’t expressive. But every time I looked up from my documents, I saw his eyes on the screen—filled with a focused concentration and a deep, aching missing of me. The second year, he often flew to see me. He would show up at my apartment door, under my office building, or on a random street corner selling roasted sweet potatoes. No matter where I was, Pierce always found me. By the third year, Pierce had an intern under his wing. He was busy mentoring her, cleaning up her messes, and our communication began to fade. From a mandatory daily video call. To weekly. Then monthly. Finally, I was the one calling him. And he didn’t always pick up. By the fourth and fifth years, our relationship felt different. When I called, the feeling of fear was stronger than anticipation. I was afraid of disturbing him. Afraid of seeing his familiar, tight frown. “Text me if it’s important. Don’t call,” he said. I felt like a child who had done something wrong. I apologized, then tried to win him back with a nervous smile and a gift I’d picked out. “It’s our ninth anniversary today…” “Mentor, can you check this patient chart for me?” I heard the girl’s voice in the background. The video call ended abruptly. I thought about texting Pierce, then realized there was no point. I had no important reason to contact him. I just missed him. Terribly. So much that every time I walked to a street corner, I instinctively searched for his figure, then wiped away tears when he wasn’t there. But this longing had become a burden to him. For two months, he actually blocked my number. I was up to my neck in a huge project, unable to fly home and demand an explanation. All I could do was cry myself to sleep every night. My eyes were permanently swollen, and I was losing handfuls of hair. Two months later, Pierce claimed it was just a prank by Vivi. He hadn’t noticed. “My bad, I’ve been so busy I didn’t look.” “The kid didn’t mean any harm, she was just messing around. Don’t sweat it. I apologize for her.” He wired a huge sum of money to my account. “Don’t put yourself through anything. Ask for more if you need it.” He didn’t know that the biggest slight to my soul was the one he delivered. In the sixth year, I gave up my career and decided to come back for him. Only to hear from a mutual friend that Pierce had been strung along by this young woman for years. They were openly affectionate. They had even met each other’s families. I didn’t believe it. I was naive enough to think Pierce was still the same quiet, sincere, loving boy I’d left. But he had changed. I should have realized it the first time he hung up on me for Vivi, the first time he missed my birthday, the first time he forgot our anniversary. But I was blinded by love. I compromised again and again, and I forgave. Now, finally, I saw clearly. 3 I discharged myself from the hospital. Back at the apartment, I found the social media direct messages had updated on the laptop. Vivi had shared a lot of videos. Pierce had only read them, not replied. [Vivi: Your fiancée is back, so you’re moving me to a different group? Seriously? You hid from me at the hospital, and now you won’t even reply to my texts.] [Vivi: Just tell me one thing: her or me?] [Pierce: I’m getting married.] Five words. The other side went silent. My heart was a complicated knot of emotions. I stared at the screen, so absorbed that I didn’t notice Pierce had come back. “You saw it all?” He stood next to me. “We’ve been together for ten years. It’s time to get married.” “Let’s go pick out the dress this week. You handle the guest list, I’ll handle the venue. We’ll get it done before the fifteenth. I have a conference next month.” His tone was so flat, as if he were discussing a tedious chore. “We need to start trying to conceive right after the wedding. You’ll be considered a high-risk pregnancy in a few years. It’s not good for you or the baby.” I clenched my fists without realizing it. “You haven’t even proposed to me.” “I don’t have time,” he said. “That kind of ceremony isn’t necessary.” I managed a self-deprecating laugh. He had time to spend with Vivi, naming a pile of stuffed animals and throwing them birthday parties. But for us, for me, suddenly time was a luxury he couldn’t afford. “But you’ll get what you deserve,” Pierce said, handing me a bank card. “My salary is all in here. All of it.” “The jewelry, the dowry, the car, the property. Tell me if anything is missing.” I was silent for a long moment. I felt like I was looking at a stranger. When did he stop being patient with me, speaking only in bullet points? He used to love hearing me ramble. He said he loved my vibrant energy, my little tantrums. Maybe I was worn down by work and too mature now, or maybe the long distance had made us strangers. And that’s how a vibrant, young girl found a place in his heart. And pushed me out. “Do you still love me?” I asked. Pierce hesitated. “Yes, I do.” I kept shaking my head. “No, you don’t.” Voicing the truth was harder than I’d anticipated. It took several shaky breaths. Just to keep the tears from falling in defeat. “Why are you crying?” Pierce frowned slightly. “I’m just being practical. You’re not a little girl anymore. There’s no need to be so petty.” I shoved him away fiercely. My voice rose, sharp and loud. “I’m not marrying you!” 4 Pierce was silent for a few seconds. Then, he snatched the laptop and smashed it onto the floor. A shard of plastic grazed my calf, leaving a bloody streak. “I won’t contact her again. Is that enough?” He pulled out his phone. He blocked “Dummy.” He opened his photo album and deleted the pictures of Vivi that took up most of the storage. “Is that enough, Elara? Tell me.” I was stunned. I watched him walk into the living room, violently tearing apart the stuffed animals and ripping up the small blanket. “Elara! Goddammit, I’m asking you, is this enough now?!” He grabbed my arm and dragged me, and I stumbled, falling into the mess of destruction. I had never seen Pierce angry. He had never even used a harsh word against me. Now his eyes were filled with an icy fury. “What is this drama? What are you trying to prove?” “We’ve been dating for ten years. It’s time to get married, isn’t it?” “My mom keeps hounding me. I held off because you were busy with work, okay, I didn’t pressure you. But what now? How many more years do you want to stall? How many years do you have left at your age?” “You’ve been giving me this attitude and questioning my feelings ever since you got back… I waited for you for ten years! Do you think I don’t love you?” “You are being completely unreasonable!” I was too heartbroken to speak. I hung my head, watching my tears shatter on the floor. All I felt was exhaustion, a weariness deeper than the pain. The gap between Pierce and me had become too wide to cross. No matter how hard I ran. No matter how hard I fell. I couldn’t reach even the edge of his sleeve anymore. “What I mean is…” We’re breaking up. I didn’t finish. His phone rang. “Dr. Sterling, Vivi has gotten into huge trouble!” the voice on the other end yelled. Pierce immediately made a move to leave. I grabbed his car keys, my voice desperate and loud. “Think carefully, Pierce!” “If you walk out that door today, our relationship is officially over!” He didn’t hear me. His mind and heart were completely consumed by Vivi’s distress. Pierce snatched the keys away violently. The sharp edge sliced my palm, and a splash of blood stained the white carpet an alarming red. “The first aid kit is in the cabinet. Bandage yourself up. We can talk about this when I get back.” I had never seen him so frantic. His jacket was on backwards, his shoes were on the wrong feet. He practically stumbled out the door. The door slammed shut. Leaving behind chaos and an endless silence. I gently blew on the cut on my palm. It hurt. Tears fell onto it, making it sting even more. I didn’t have the energy to bandage it. I lay back on the floor, letting the hot tears flow freely. I was so tired. Tired enough to wish I could just fall asleep and never wake up. I wouldn’t have to deal with the ten wasted years, the best years of my youth, and I wouldn’t have to feel this agonizing pain. It felt like all my organs were being shredded. In my daze, a call came through. It was our mutual friend, Jamie. “Get to the hospital immediately! Pierce is about to take the fall for Vivi! His career is going to be ruined!” 5 I rushed to the scene. The hospital director’s face was beyond furious. “Vivian Cole!” He slammed his hand on the desk, his face red and swollen with rage. “I’d like to see who is going to cover for you with this malpractice case! This means jail time!” “You’ve always made mistakes! If Pierce hadn’t protected you every single time—if he hadn’t cleaned up every mess—I would have fired you a long time ago!” Vivian burst into loud sobs. “Please stop! I’m scared, wah, wah, wah… I don’t know anything…” “Mentor, save me… I didn’t mean to. I don’t want to go to jail…” Tears poured down her face. Pierce, who had been silent, finally spoke: “I’ll take the blame for her.” My mind exploded. My body moved faster than my thoughts. I flew in front of him and slapped him hard across the face. “Are you out of your mind?!” I knew medicine was Pierce’s life. From the day we met, I had studied with him, worked with him in the lab, and pulled all-nighters with him. When he needed to work on a research topic, I took time off work to support him. When a patient’s family gave him trouble, I was the first to step up. I cared more about his career than my own. “Elara, once I’ve made a name for myself, I’ll give you a wedding the city will talk about,” his promise echoed in my memory, chillingly clear. Now, Pierce pushed me aside, his voice cold. “Don’t interfere.” “We endured so much hardship, we spent so many nights awake, building this career step by step…” My tears finally broke free, and every word was ground out from between my teeth. “And you’re going to throw away everything you worked for—including our future—for a woman you barely know? Just like that, without a second thought?!” His promise to marry me now sounded utterly hollow and insulting. How could he marry me if he was in prison? This wasn’t just an insult to our love. It was an insult to our effort, to our memories. Smack!— I slapped him again, even harder. “Enough!” Pierce finally grabbed my hand. “I’m Vivian’s mentor. It’s my fault for not guiding her properly. I have to take responsibility for her mistakes.” My voice shot up: “How are you going to take responsibility?!” “With your clean record, your career, your life?” He pursed his lips. After a long pause, he spoke. “I believe her. It wasn’t intentional.” “Vivi is still young. And she’s a girl. She can’t go to jail. It’ll ruin her future…” I cut him off. “What about me?” “So you’re just going to abandon me, is that it?” Pierce looked at me, a flicker of struggle in his eyes. But overriding it was a cold resolution I couldn’t comprehend. “I’ll get out as fast as I can…” “And then what?” I laughed, the tears flowing harder. “I wait for you? Wait for another few years? How many ten-year periods do we have left?” “I don’t actually care anymore if you marry me.” “Pierce, I just realized you never took our relationship seriously. That was ten years… Ten years, the best of my youth! I was blind to waste so much time on you!” It was enough. Truly enough. I used all my strength to wrench my hand free from his grasp. My heart was completely dead, my tears all gone. My voice was so calm it frightened me. “Pierce, the wedding is off. We’re breaking up.” “We’re done. Don’t ever contact me again.” Pierce suddenly panicked. He tried to grab me, but I stepped back to avoid him. “No…” “Pierce!” Vivian screamed suddenly. “Let her go!” “It’s better if she leaves! Then no one can steal my man! No one can steal the father of my baby!” The words were a thunderclap. The entire department fell into stunned silence.

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Recently, I discovered my computer was hacked. The intruder’s goal? To steal a peek at the spicy fanfiction I write. To catch this “criminal,” I crammed four months of computer science knowledge. Armed with my limited skills, I traced the IP and hacked into his webcam. From the screen came the sound of a man panting heavily, making my heart race. After a long while, the face of the campus academic god—a regular on the school website—appeared on camera. Caught in the act of doing something indescribable, he blushed furiously: “You… you found me.” 1 My computer got hacked. Lately, weird, supernatural things have been happening when I write. — Typos in the smut I just wrote would correct themselves. — The formatting would suddenly become neat and tidy. — Documents I panic-saved in the wrong folder would magically appear in the correct one. … Just as I was suspecting schizophrenia from writing too much, my roommate Kiki joked, “Maybe your computer got hacked!” A casual remark, but I took it to heart. Although I don’t have sensitive info or more than four digits in my bank account, my computer holds hundreds of chapters of smut! Some even feature my crush, Shawn, as the protagonist! If this got out, how could I show my face on campus? I swore to catch this criminal! After consulting the “Academic God” of the Computer Science department (Kiki’s boyfriend), I started cramming. Finally, on a dark and stormy night, I hacked the intruder’s webcam. The environment was dim, but I recognized the wooden bunk beds of our dorms. I got excited. Holy crap! If he’s on campus, catching him is just a matter of time! I stared at the screen excitedly, looking for clues. Suddenly, the sound of suppressed panting came through. “Baby… mmh…” I froze. Having read countless books, I knew exactly what he was doing… But even with my theoretical knowledge, this scene was too much. What the hell? Who steals someone else’s smut to do that? So perverted… Although, I wrote the smut. But that’s not the point! Peeping Toms have no honor! However. This guy’s panting sounds kinda hot… My face burned instantly, throat tight, heart pounding like a drum. The guy on the other side sped up, no longer suppressing his voice, letting loose. His panting made my whole body heat up. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, he finished. Hearing the sound of tissues being pulled, I braced myself. Soon, a muscular arm appeared in the frame, followed by broad shoulders, collarbones, defined pecs… And finally, a handsome face with flushed cheeks. I forgot to breathe. I knew that face all too well. Me: ? 2 Shawn. The god of the Computer Science department. My crush. The male lead in dozens of my fanfics… So, he was reading stories based on himself while getting off? My brain short-circuited. On the other side, Shawn seemed to notice something was wrong. He panicked, then quickly operated his computer, taking control of mine. We met via video in the most awkward way possible. After staring at each other for four or five seconds, Shawn frantically shut down his computer. Before the screen went black, I clearly heard him curse under his breath: “Fuck…” My screen returned to my wallpaper, but I was still in shock. It took a long time for the panic to set in. Help! Did he read everything? All those indescribable… super spicy scenes! I buried my burning face in the blanket, trying to suffocate myself. We’re doomed. Will he tell anyone? After struggling internally for half an hour, I collapsed on the bed, accepting my fate. Whatever. At least I saw Shawn shirtless before I die socially. Worth it. 3 After that incident, I didn’t write for half a month. Instead, I inexplicably ran into Shawn everywhere on campus. Classrooms, cafeteria, supermarket, track field… I developed a skill: whenever Shawn was near, a chill would run down my spine, and I’d lock onto his location instantly. I don’t know if he saw me, but I ran every time. If we met, would he think I’m a pervert? Even though he’s the pervert… My roommate Summer asked me to watch hot guys play basketball, but I made excuses. “Hannah, heard Shawn is playing today. You’re not coming?” Normally, I’d grab snacks and follow them like a puppy. But now? Too awkward. “I’ll pass. Busy with the Literature Club.” Summer knew I was busy and pouted. Chloe added, “The club has an event soon, she really is busy.” Summer looked regretful. “Fine, you busy bee. We’re going! I’ll take HD photos for you to enjoy later~” I turned my back and mumbled a “Mmh.” “Enjoy”? I wouldn’t dare! Just thinking of Shawn makes me feel like he’s standing in front of me, condemning me. [You little pervert! Look innocent but mind is full of smut! Coveting my body!] I rushed to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. To force myself to calm down, I buried myself in club work. 4 When my roommates returned, I was still at my desk. “So sad, Shawn wore a new jersey today but only played half the game.” “Yeah! Explosively handsome. Did you see those girls next to us? Eyes glued to him!” … I stopped working, ears perking up. New jersey? What color? He’s pale, so blue would look good… As I thought this, Summer and the girls were in front of me. “Hannah, look! Shawn’s new jersey is super hot!” Summer shoved her phone in my face. Holy crap! It really is blue! In the photo, Shawn was as handsome as ever. His fair skin glowed in the sun, broad shoulders, narrow waist, perfect arm muscles. Under the blue jersey, his pecs were defined. I like muscles like that—healthy, not excessive. That’s why Shawn became my irreplaceable crush. Looking at it, the image of shirtless Shawn from that night popped into my head… My face burned again. This reaction was intriguing to others. “Oooooh~ Hannah, you’re blushing!” “You’re definitely gonna dream of him tonight!” They teased me. Why did Chloe say I’d dream of him? I kept my crush on Shawn buried deep. Until one night, Chloe got up to pee and heard me talk in my sleep. Calling Shawn’s name. They kept my secret but teased me whenever we saw him. I covered my face, grabbed my laptop, and fled to my bed. Their teasing got louder. I feel like I’ve done every embarrassing thing possible. 5 Ding~ WeChat message from Club President Liam. [Hannah, the freshmen sent the event brief. Check it for errors.] I replied [Okay]. Only when busy can I stop thinking about Shawn. I received the file and opened my laptop. Just as I was about to log into WeChat, the screen flickered, and another feed appeared. Familiar wooden bed, dark blue sheets… Isn’t this Shawn’s bed?! Why did his webcam turn on? I didn’t touch anything! Just as I was about to fix it, Shawn appeared in the frame. He seemed fresh out of the shower, shirtless, wearing only light blue basketball shorts… quite tight ones. A towel draped over his shoulder, damp hair dripping water droplets that slid down his firm chest, soaking into the blue sheets. Faced with this “Hunk Out of Bath” scene, my brain exploded. Who can handle this! Shawn looked at the screen, locking eyes with shocked me for a few seconds. First surprise, then he pursed his lips nervously, cheeks slowly turning red. He carefully pulled up the towel to cover his chest, looking at me shyly. “You… why are you… peeping at me again?” Me: ? What do you mean? Peeping? Again? Sitting in bed, accused of crimes from the sky! I looked at the curtains. Roommates were chatting, oblivious. “What peeping? I just opened my laptop! You hacked me first, that’s how I caught you!” Shawn tugged the towel coyly. “Who knows? How could a little girl like you do such things?” Excuse me? This is outrageous! Before I could speak, Shawn crossed his arms, pretending to cover himself. His well-developed pecs created cleavage with just a slight movement. “If I hadn’t worn pants, you would’ve seen everything.” I almost jumped off the bed to curse at the screen. Zap! The screen went black, flashed twice, and returned to my wallpaper. He ran? Without explaining? Ineuliably labeled a pervert. Thinking about it, I felt this kid did it on purpose. Can I tolerate this? I suspect he’ll leak my smut writing secret. Need to negotiate. Emotional, I grabbed my phone and mobilized my network to find Shawn’s class schedule.

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My sister and I transmigrated into a book together. I was lustful, despising the crippled CEO for being useless in bed. My sister was greedy, despising the poor boy for having no money. So that night, we swapped. I took the poor boy, trampling his dignity beneath my feet. She became the CEO’s canary, spending his money like water. When my sister couldn’t take the angst anymore, she planned to fake her death and run away with a fortune. I couldn’t take it either—rubbing my sore waist—and followed right behind her. Years later, while living our best lives, my sister suddenly texted me in the middle of the night: “Don’t come home. Ethan found me.” I pushed the male model off me and rushed to save her, only to be pulled into the embrace of a new business tycoon. Anxious, I slapped him. He smiled darkly, kissing my wrist. “Baby, you’re still so weak.” 1 The moment my sister’s twenty million dollars hit the account, I was busy humiliating the poor boy, Seth, stepping on him literally and figuratively. “Did I say you could sleep on the bed? Filthy!” But Seth didn’t look angry. Instead, he stared at my foot obsessively, his face flushed. The System screamed in my head like a marmot: [Host! Your mission is to humiliate him, not reward him! Use some force!] Oh. So that’s why Seth was blushing. I put on a mean face, glared with my almond eyes, and ground my heel into his chest. Seth tensed up, his eyelashes trembling as he let out a muffled groan. Two seconds later, I got bored. “Hard as a rock. Exhausting.” The System warned: [If you don’t complete the mission, you’ll be electrocuted.] I immediately aimed a kick at his face. That should be humiliating enough, right? But I lost my balance and fell flat on my face. I clutched my bruised shin, eyes red with tears. The System cursed: [Pathetic!] Seth immediately cradled my foot, massaging it gently. “Baby, does it feel better now?” Looking at his innocent, handsome profile, my tears stopped. Damn, I was getting hungry again. I deliberately pressed my toes against his abs, staring at the redness spreading from the corners of his eyes. “Did you shower?” Seth’s voice was hoarse. “Baby, I cleaned everything.” My gaze drifted down. “Really? Let me check.” After six months, only I knew how terrifying his needs were. When we did it, he was like a mad dog. But the moment I cried pain, he wouldn’t dare move, even if he was about to explode. Customer service 10/10. … Three hours later, I lay limp in his arms, demanding he carry me to the shower. “Baby, I…” He begged, voice raspy. I glanced down, used to it. “I’m tired. Figure it out yourself.” After the shower, he leaned in for a kiss. I slapped him. Because I never let him sleep in the bed. Use and discard. And a final insult for good measure: “Useless thing!” Seth looked crushed, like a broken puppy. Eyes red with grievance, he kissed my foot. “I’ll work harder to satisfy you, Baby.” “Baby, you worked hard.” “Goodnight, Baby.” He retreated to the sofa with his blanket, looking desolate. The System arrived with the electric shock. I was unbothered: [Just tell me, was he humiliated or not?] The System checked the data and rolled its eyes: [Fine, you win, you yellow-brained girl!] Before sleep, I got a text from my sister. “How’s the plot going on your end?” Me: “Just about to cuckold him. You?” Sister: “Ethan is about to get engaged to his white moonlight. Time for me to fake a pregnancy and run.” My competitive spirit ignited. “What! Why is your plot moving faster than mine?!” 2 My sister and I are twins. We transmigrated into this book after a plane crash. Originally, I was supposed to be the substitute lover for the disabled CEO, Ethan. Destined to be abused physically and emotionally, die tragically, and make him regret it for life. My sister was supposed to be the vicious fiancée of the poor boy, Seth. Treating him like a dog, cheating on him with a rich kid, cuckolding him like crazy, and finally ending up ruined by beggars. We only get to live in this world if we complete the System’s tasks and finish the plot. It’s the only way to break free from the System’s control. But I’m lustful. I despised the crippled CEO for being old and useless. My sister is greedy. She couldn’t stand being poor. So we swapped. She took my angst-filled heroine script, using the opportunity to drain Ethan’s bank account. I took her vicious villainess script. While despising the male lead, I went to town on him! I died a virgin in my past life. What’s wrong with enjoying myself now?! 3 To rush the plot, I started acting up the moment I opened my eyes. Seth brought a fried egg to the table. I flipped the plate. My favorite runny yolk! My heart bled, but I put on a mean face. “Disgusting! Eggs every day? Why did I even date you!” I opened a “Rich Kids of Instagram” page and shoved photos of luxury cars and watches in his face. “Look at other boyfriends! Cars, bags, mansions! You just give me eggs and make me live in a basement!” Only I knew that despite being poor, Seth never mistreated me. He bought me top-tier skincare sets. Beautiful clothes every month. He gave me the best while he wore cheap street clothes and used one bar of soap for everything. Accusing him like this was excessive. But Seth showed zero resentment. Only guilt. “Baby, I’m sorry. Give me a little more time. I promise I’ll give you the life you want.” My conscience pricked, but I showed him a photo of a designer bag. Under the System’s threat, I barked, “Buy me this bag! Or we break up!” Seth was in the critical stage of his startup. Every penny counted. How could he afford a designer bag? But that afternoon, Seth took me to the store and bought it. Carrying the Birkin, my heart pounded. [System, this plot is wrong.] [Shouldn’t I drag him to the store, force him to buy it, then humiliate him publicly by linking arms with a rich guy and dumping him?] The System exploded too: [I don’t know! Wait! Where did he get the money?!] But the plot must go on. Carrying the bag Seth bought, I turned and linked arms with the rich guy waiting nearby. “Baby?” Seth grabbed my wrist, disbelief in his eyes. I shook him off, sneering. “Seth, one bag emptied your account. I don’t want to live a hard life with you.” “Baby, what do you mean?” Seth stared at me, eyes red, expression agonizing. I trampled his pride into the dust. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you anymore. Thanks for the parting gift, though.” I turned to leave. Seth suddenly rushed forward, hugging me so tight he wanted to merge me into his bones. His voice trembled. “Baby, I’ll take that as a joke. Let’s go home, okay? I’ll buy you anything you want.” Suppressing the sting in my nose, I slapped him. Under Seth’s dark, terrifying gaze, I fled into the rich guy’s car. “Drive! Fast!” Thinking of the original host’s tragic fate, my tears fell like free rain. [Waaaah, System, will I really not die if I abuse the male lead like this?] No, I have to find my sister. She’ll know what to do. 4 Meanwhile, my sister was busy “running with the ball” (fake pregnancy escape). The moment she stepped into the airport, Ethan’s men dragged her back. She sat on the floor, looking pathetic, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the man in the wheelchair. “Ethan, why won’t you let me go? I just want a peaceful life.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Ethan frowned impatiently, pinching her chin. His tone was icy. “You staged this whole show just for me, didn’t you, Jenny? Thinking you can manipulate me with a baby?” My sister turned her face away, showing a stubborn profile, refusing to explain. Ethan warned her in a low voice, “Jenny, don’t forget. I kept you around because you look like her. But you crossed the line touching her!” “For the sake of the child, I’ll let it slide. Do it again, and you won’t survive my anger!” My sister looked at him with panic. “In five years, have you never loved me?” A flicker of hesitation crossed Ethan’s eyes, quickly replaced by disgust. “Do you deserve it?” My sister collapsed, laughing and crying, heart dead. He waved his hand. Bodyguards dragged her for a checkup. “How’s the child?” His doctor friend, Dr. Xiao, looked awkward. “Ethan, Ms. Jenny isn’t pregnant.” “What did you say?!” Ethan almost stood up from his wheelchair. My sister’s eyes widened. “Impossible!” “Ms. Jenny, I’m a doctor. I have professional ethics. The test results don’t lie.” Dr. Xiao avoided my sister’s gaze guiltily. Ethan looked at my sister, face dark as thunder. “Jenny, you’ve got guts!” Ethan was crippled early on due to a family plot. Doctors said he likely couldn’t have children. My sister used this to try and ruin his wedding with his white moonlight, Susan. She touched his reverse scale. 5 My sister was locked in the basement. Once everyone left, I jumped out of my hiding spot (spatial inventory). Before I could tearfully hug her, she pulled out eye drops and flooded her eyes. “This consumes too much tears. Almost fainted from crying.” I was heartbroken. “Sister, I can’t watch you suffer. I permit you to fake your death before me.” She smirked. “Don’t worry. Soon. The day Ethan gets married is the day I die.” “Wonder if he’ll like my wedding gift.” A few days later, she was released. Susan begged Ethan for her. Duh. If my sister stayed locked up, how could she cause drama? When Ethan came to the basement, we were cracking sunflower seeds, discussing which city to retire in. Hearing the wheelchair, I grabbed a handful of shells and vanished into my space. Ethan looked at her gloomily. “Apologize to Susan.” My sister laughed dryly, like a soulless puppet. “Okay.” Ethan felt a sudden irritation. He grabbed her chin. “You pushed her into the water, gave her a high fever. An apology is letting you off easy.” He looked at her flat stomach, a storm brewing in his eyes. “Why lie about the pregnancy, Jenny?” My sister stroked her belly gently, smiling. “Does it matter now?” Ethan couldn’t stand looking at her. He turned his wheelchair. “After this, don’t let me see you again.” My sister laughed softly. “As you wish, Ethan.”

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Four years of college dating. Three years of marriage. And then, on a Tuesday that was aggressively ordinary, Grant dropped the bomb. I asked him why, my voice trembling in a way I hated. His response was terrifyingly calm, a CEO firing an underperforming intern. “You live in sweatpants, Nora. Your hair is always in that same messy bun. You refuse to wear makeup when I take you to client dinners. And our anniversary? It’s always the same homemade spaghetti.” He adjusted his cufflinks, looking through me. “I am done with this repetitive, beige existence.” That night, we slept in separate rooms. We didn’t speak. And neither of us noticed the pilot light on the vintage gas stove in the kitchen had flickered out, while the gas kept running. The explosion took the house, and us, instantly. When I woke up—alive, breathing, and inexplicably back in time—I realized Grant had come back too. We never spoke of it. We just severed ties with a silent, mutual efficiency. Until the high school reunion. He walked in with his arm around a girl named Sienna, looking like the poster couple for Town & Country. “Nora,” my friend Jess nudged me, wine glass tilting dangerously. “Grant’s dated half the cheerleading squad since graduation. Why haven’t you found anyone?” I smiled, swirling the ice in my water. “Who says I haven’t? I’m getting married next month. You should come.” 1 The words had barely left my lips when Grant guided Sienna to our table. The air in the room shifted. A dozen pairs of eyes darted between us like we were a spectator sport. Three years ago, we were the golden couple, the prom king and queen who actually made it. Then, post-graduation silence. I stared at the tablecloth, trying to make myself small. Of all the empty seats in the banquet hall, Sienna pulled Grant into the ones directly next to me. The tension was thick enough to choke on. The class president, trying to salvage the mood, raised a pitcher of beer. “Alright, gang’s all here! Let’s do a round!” He moved to fill the glass in front of me. “She’s allergic to alcohol. She can’t drink that.” Grant’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and instinctive. The table went dead silent. Everyone knew about my severe intolerance; it was a defining trait of my college years. Grant cleared his throat, realizing his slip. He grabbed his own glass and downed it, a frown etching lines into his forehead. Beside him, Sienna’s smile faltered, brittle as dried leaves. She laughed, a high, forced sound. “Oh, silly me. I almost forgot Grant was talking about me,” she lied, clinging to his arm. “My immune system has been so weak lately; the doctor said alcohol might trigger a reaction.” The table erupted in polite, awkward laughter, making jokes about Grant being such a protective boyfriend. I felt a wave of exhaustion. “Excuse me,” I said, standing up. “Restroom.” I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the past. When I stepped back into the hallway, Grant was there, leaning against the wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Seeing me, he immediately crushed the cigarette against the sole of his shoe. He stared at the smoldering butt, freezing for a second. I hated smoke. In our old life, Grant never smoked around me. If he indulged, he would stand outside on the porch for thirty minutes, letting the wind strip the scent away before coming near me. I loved him then. I felt nothing now. I tried to walk past him without a glance, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist. He leaned in, the smell of tobacco and expensive cologne invading my space. “Nora. Did you hear I was coming? Is that why you’re here?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “What? Want to try again?” I yanked my hand away, looking at him with genuine amusement. “Grant, you are hallucinating.” He took a half-step back but blocked my path, his jaw tight. “Fine. Better that way. Saves me the trouble of rejecting you. By the way, I heard you’re working at City General. I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had it in you to actually hold down a job.” I ignored the barb. I’d heard it all before in our first life. During our worst fights, he called me a parasite. He said I’d die without him, that I was just a pet he kept fed and housed. “Grant?” Sienna’s voice echoed from the banquet hall. “Where are you? We’re leaving!” Grant didn’t say another word. He turned on his heel and walked away. 2 The second time I saw Grant was strictly professional. His conglomerate was donating a fleet of MRI machines to our hospital. In the conference room, I stood by the projection screen, my voice steady as I ran through the hospital’s history and accolades. Grant sat in the front row, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the mahogany table. The Chief of Staff called his name twice before he blinked, snapping out of a trance. His eyes had been fixed on my face, clouded with a strange confusion. “Must be Dr. Vance’s captivating presentation,” the Chief joked nervously. People chuckled. The tension broke. When the meeting ended, I exhaled a breath I felt I’d been holding for an hour. My only goal was to escape. “Nora,” the Department Head intercepted me at the door. “Dinner tonight with the donors. Mandatory attendance.” That evening, I tried to slide into the seat furthest from the head of the table at the steakhouse. “Sit here.” Grant’s voice wasn’t a request. He pulled out the chair directly next to him, his eyes locking onto mine. The room went quiet for a heartbeat. “I want to hear more about the hospital’s logistics,” he added slowly, daring me to contradict him. “Dr. Vance wouldn’t mind, would she?” He had cornered me. The Department Head practically shoved me into the chair, signaling me with frantic eyes to play nice. I sat, stiff as a board, every nerve ending screaming run. Halfway through the meal, a serving spoon hovered over my plate. A large scoop of lobster risotto landed in front of me. “I remember you love lobster risotto,” Grant said, his voice dropping to that intimate register again. “This place has the best in Chicago. Eat.” I stared at the creamy rice, the chunks of rich meat. A sudden sting pricked my nose. Not for him. For me. I hated lobster. I hated the texture. But Grant loved it. So, for seven years, it became our favorite. Just like I stopped eating fish because he disliked the smell, even though I grew up by the coast. Grant didn’t know me. He only knew the reflection of himself he had forced me to become. I didn’t pick up my fork. Under the table, a warm hand covered mine. It felt like a branding iron. I jerked up, my chair screeching against the floorboards. Clatter. My sudden movement knocked the silverware off the table. The room froze. Everyone stared. I pressed my lips together, fighting the tremor in my voice. “I apologize. I’m not feeling well. I need to go.” And then, I fled. 3 In the back of the Uber, I scrubbed the back of my hand with a wet wipe until the skin turned raw and red. It stung, but the physical pain was better than the nausea rolling in my stomach. The moment I walked into my apartment, an unknown number flashed on my phone screen. I swiped answer. Grant’s voice filled the quiet room, sounding slightly unhinged. “Nora. You still feel it, don’t you?” He sounded so sure of himself. “If you didn’t, why did you freak out tonight?” I hadn’t eaten all day, and my stomach was cramping violently. I didn’t have the energy to scream. “Grant. I am married.” A scoff cracked through the speaker. Pure derision. “Married? At least come up with a believable lie. Who else could possibly give you the life you want?” “You think that hospital salary is going to buy you a brownstone in the Gold Coast? You think you’ll be wearing designer silk on a resident’s pay?” “Admit it, Nora. You’re just punishing me for not calling you sooner.” “But you didn’t call me either, did you?” I let out a dry, incredulous laugh, digging through my drawer for my stomach meds. “Grant, when two adults don’t speak for years, that’s called a breakup.” “I am asking you, for the last time, stay out of my life.” I hung up, tossed the phone onto the sofa, and dry-swallowed two pills. I lay back, closing my eyes, waiting for the silence to heal me. 4 The next morning, the stomach cramps had faded to a dull ache, but my head was pounding. The door to my exam room swung open. Grant walked in, guiding Sienna. I didn’t even blink. I put on my doctor face. “What seems to be the problem?” Sienna leaned into Grant’s chest, giggling softly. “Doctor, I’ve been so nauseous lately. Throwing up in the mornings.” I wrote out a lab slip without looking up. “Go to the lab. Get a blood draw.” An hour later, I held the results. My voice was clinical, devoid of emotion. “You’re pregnant.” Sienna’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She grabbed Grant’s bicep. “Grant! Did you hear? We’re having a baby!” Grant didn’t look at her. His eyes were laser-focused on me, burning with intensity. I ignored him, going through the standard script about prenatal vitamins and scheduling the next ultrasound. “Do you have any questions?” I asked, picking up my pen. “Get rid of it,” Grant said. Sienna’s smile shattered. Tears welled up instantly. “What? Grant, why? Why don’t you want our baby?” Grant’s voice was flat, final. “I said no. That means no. There is no ‘why’.” Sienna followed his gaze. She looked at him, then at me. The realization hit her like a physical blow. “It’s her, isn’t it? Grant, look at me! Is it because of this bitch?” “You broke up years ago! I am your girlfriend!” Grant frowned, annoyed by the scene. “Now isn’t the right time for a child. I need to focus on the merger.” “Lies! It’s all lies!” Sienna screamed, lunging across the desk. Rrrrip. She snatched the medical file from my hands and tore it in half. Paper rained down like confetti. “You whore! Did you seduce him? Is that why he won’t touch me? Is that why he wants to kill my baby?” Smack! The slap caught me off guard. My glasses flew off my face, skittering across the tile floor. One lens shattered. My ear rang with a high-pitched whine. Grant’s face went pale. He grabbed Sienna, pulling her into a hug, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. “Okay, okay. Calm down. It’s bad for the baby.” “If you want it that much, fine. Keep it.” He wrapped his arm around the sobbing woman and turned to leave. “Stop.” They froze. I bent down, picked up my broken frames, and placed them on the desk. Then, looking straight at them, I picked up the landline and dialed 911. 5 The police station was a drab gray box fluorescent-lit and smelling of stale coffee. Grant sat on a bench, holding Sienna, whispering comforts. I sat alone on the opposite side. My left cheek was swollen, pulsing with heat. I ran my tongue over a cut inside my mouth, tasting copper. An officer walked over, looking weary. “Ma’am, if you don’t accept mediation and insist on pressing charges, Ms. Miller could be facing assault charges. It’s a serious offense.” Sienna heard this and dissolved into theatrics, clutching Grant’s lapels. “Grant, I’m scared… it was just hormones… I didn’t mean it…” Grant patted her back, then looked at me. His eyes were cold, filled with the arrogance of a man who had never been told ‘no’. “Name your price, Nora. How much to make this go away?” I tried to speak, but my jaw ached. He hadn’t changed. Not one bit. When you amused him, you were a queen. When you inconvenienced him, you were debris. I looked him in the eye. “I don’t settle.” Grant sighed, like a parent dealing with a toddler’s tantrum. “Nora, don’t push it.” “It was one slap. Take the check and stop making a scene.” “I don’t want your money,” I said, enunciating every syllable. “I am pressing charges. I will not forgive this.” Grant’s jaw tightened. He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed his legal team. His lawyer arrived in twenty minutes—a shark in a three-thousand-dollar suit. He started listing reasons why a “simple misunderstandings” shouldn’t ruin a young mother’s life. Then my phone rang. It was the Department Head. “Nora! You need to drop this immediately. Make peace with Mr. Lockwood. If you don’t, consider your tenure review cancelled. In fact, consider your job gone.” It was Grant’s move. Threatening my livelihood. “Fine,” I said into the phone. “I quit.” Ten minutes later, the station doors burst open. The Head of HR and two administrators from the hospital stormed in. “Dr. Vance!” The HR director barked. “You are causing a PR nightmare! People are saying you’re a homewrecker who got into a brawl with a pregnant patient!” “Our stock dropped two points! If you don’t settle this and issue a public apology, we will sue you for breach of contract and damages. We’ll ruin you!” I stood there, surrounded, the walls closing in. Then, a voice cut through the chaos from the entrance. “I’d like to see you try.”

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